


Mind-Forg'd Manacles

by needleyecandy



Series: Manacles [1]
Category: Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Character Death, Child Abuse, History, Human Sacrifice, Kidnapping, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Slavery, Slow Burn, Stockholm Syndrome, Torture, non-graphic animal death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2014-09-19
Packaged: 2018-02-08 07:07:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 37
Words: 59,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1931361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/needleyecandy/pseuds/needleyecandy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Roman Republic demands new lands, and the army, led by Caesar, is eager for glory. It is customary for them to take slaves from newly conquered peoples, which is how Loki, a Celt, and Thor, a German, find themselves torn away from everything they've known and loved.</p><p>As slaves of Rome, the two boys respond to their captivity in strikingly different ways. As free men, their old ways of surviving become fetters. </p><p>When they find each other, freedom finally begins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Sight

**Author's Note:**

> The first part of this work is very dark. The rape and most of the abuse happens when the kids are seven and eight. It's not graphic, but still. Same with the animal death.
> 
> I used current writings on PTSD and Stockholm Syndrome when developing my characters, so while I think it's inaccurate to use modern and Western diagnostic terms for people from other times and cultures, I tagged them as trigger warnings.
> 
> The second work in this series is a reference for this work, with things like character list, tribe names, etc. Information that is crucial to understanding a chapter will be in that chapter's notes.
> 
>  
> 
> Chapter 1 notes- Different characters use different names for the same groups of people in this chapter. The Romans called all the tribes of Northern Britain "Caledonians." These tribes recognized their relationship and had some level of group identity, and while there are guesses on what they called themselves, no one has a sure answer. I chose to use "Pritani," to emphasize their connection with the "Britani" who live in the south. Loki is a member of the Taexali, one of the Pritani tribes.

The Roman army mustered at first light. Loki had spent the night on the hill, watching their camp for signs of movement betrayed by the faint light of the moon, bracing himself for what he knew was to come. He knew there was no hope of sleep for him, not with them so close and this sick knot in his stomach at the very thought of them, so he had ordered the usual sentries to bed and taken their place. As the Romans began to stir, he sent a summons to the Taexali warriors to prepare themselves.

Aurelius took his place the right of Marius, preparing to lead one century of the assembling company, while Thracius was at the head of the other. He looked over the Caledonian warriors assembling at the foot of their hill-fort. They were strange, tall men who wore no armor, not even leather; nothing at all, in fact, but for the strange designs that covered their skins in dark blue. He heard some of the soldiers behind him muttering uneasily at the thought of doing battle with such men, finding their confidence worrisome. He had no such misgivings; he was eager for the coming fight, eager to prove the superiority of the Empire.

 “Aurelius, look,” Marius jostled his arm and gestured to the top of the hill.

 An even stranger figure stood there, a man dressed only in a slight twist of cloth around his hips. His skin was covered even more heavily with the blue designs than was the skin of the warriors, and his neck and wrists laden with iron. Unlike the rest of the Caledonians, he had black hair, and his skin looked like it rarely saw the sun. His eyes, from this distance, were black smears.

 “He must be one of the magicians Caesar wrote of,” Aurelius said. “The ones who do their sacrifices.”

 “That would explain why he is not fighting,” Marius answered. They would have spoken more, but with a shout from the barbarians, the battle began.

When the Romans began to march, the Taexali were ready. Loki somehow held himself together as he looked over the close-shorn heads and the uniform clothing, heard the shouting in Latin. He promised himself that once this was over, he could go be sick. _Just get through this. We will win, we will be all right, just get through this. Breathe, think about breathing and your work. Not them._

The Romans were quickly flanked by rows of light chariots that charged past them on both sides, well-trained horses needing little guidance as the charioteers hurled spear after spear with deadly grace. Faced with spears falling upon them from both left and right, the Romans held their formation, but their shields proved to be of limited utility.

By the time Deglan ordered the warriors forwards, they had a much smaller force to deal with, and the Romans’ movements were hampered by the bodies of their fallen compatriots. Loki watched as the close combat began, weaving his prayers and magic to send aid where it would be most useful, forcing his breath to stay slow and even. It helped that many of the Romans, for all their vaunted military might and their arrogance, had already fallen.

 The Caledonians began their attack with chariots; Aurelius would have been embarrassed to be seen fighting in such an outdated mode, though he had to reluctantly admit that they were more effective than he would have guessed. It had been difficult to move large numbers of infantry over the uneven ground and through the forest, so Valerius had sent just one company, expecting a hundred and twenty soldiers to be more than sufficient to test this tribe’s defenses. Yet perhaps a third had fallen to the charioteer’s spears, he saw, as he glanced quickly back at the troops behind him. It was difficult to admit that the barbarians who stood poised before them, wearing nothing but their strange tattoos, could find any success against the Roman army. But then they were charging, and Aurelius’ thoughts were consumed by the joy of battle.

Most of the company were dark-haired and olive-skinned, native Romans, but there were a significant number of fair Gauls, so similar to Loki’s own tribe, mixed in. He wondered how they could bear it, to be forced to fight in the service of the Republic that had conquered them. His heart went out to them, even as he said his prayers and worked his magic towards their defeat. He would have preferred to see them freed, but with things as they were, the best he could do for them was work for their deaths, loosing their spirits to find new bodies, better lives.

His attention was distracted, though, when his eyes fixed on a soldier at the front, fighting at the side of the centurion on the left. He was fair, like the Gauls, but the resemblance ended there. Where their blond hair was pale, this man’s was golden, and unlike their lean builds, his massive body rippled with muscles. _Another subject tribe, no doubt. A slave._  The man had looked huge, almost ungainly, when he stood still, but now, in battle, he was fluid and graceful.

When it was his turn to cycle to the back of the company to rest and catch his breath, Aurelius found his attention drawn to the magician on the hill. His hands were moving constantly, and as the sun rose higher, lighting his face, the movement of his lips could be seen as well. His eyes were still in shadow except for a few moments when he turned his head slightly and they glittered from within their hollows. He was utterly foreign, magnetic, and much as Aurelius wanted to sneer, he could not help his fascination.

Loki watched as the giant slave stared at him.  It made sense, he supposed; he must be as new and strange to the slave as the slave was to him. He had worked with Lugha on ways to take the best advantage of his looks; how to play light and shadow across his face to make him appear otherworldly, to better intimidate whatever enemies might be fighting below him. One more way for him to support the Taexali warriors.

The fighting raged for nearly an hour. For the small sizes of the opposing forces, it was a long battle; Aurelius had time to move to the back to rest, and cycle forward once again, before Marius gave the order to fall back. And that itself was completely unexpected. Every Roman warrior that morning had taken arms in complete belief that they would destroy their opponents easily. The Caledonians let them retreat; their own forces were smaller, and their warriors had had to fight nonstop.

As the Romans retreated, they took with them only those fallen soldiers whose wounds looked minor enough to be worth the treating; Thracius had fallen, leaving Marius in sole command for the first time in his career, and he was unwilling to risk a slow retreat. It was already shameful to be brought so low by the Caledonians; a rear ambush after their enemies had caught their breath would be unbearable.

*****

If you had told either of them that day, the soldier or the Druid, that they shared more things in common than few men ever did, they would have laughed at you. But that laughter would be only the last and smallest thing they shared.

 

 


	2. The Fall of the Sicabri

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What Rome wants, Rome takes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to note yesterday that the title is from William Blake.

Twenty-eight years before this battle, almost to the day, two women went into labor. One was in a hut near the banks of the Rhine; the other was in a roundhouse deep in the forest of northern Britain. Both were members of free tribes, their territories perhaps desired by Rome, but not yet under threat. They were both clever and resourceful, well capable of running both home and farm when their husbands were away. If they had lived near each other, they likely would have been friends.

Until the day when Frigga died in childbirth, and Farbauti lived.

*****

Odin loved all his children, but he wanted something special for Thor. His beloved wife had died bringing the boy into the world, and he felt such a sacrifice merited a special fate for the one for whom it was made. He worked harder, and fought harder, to gain more land for his children. In most families, the oldest boy would inherit his father’s land, and the younger sons would have to make their way in the world. Odin was determined to gain enough for Baldr and Thor to share equally. Other members of the tribe secretly laughed, but never to Odin’s face; they knew well how much he had loved Frigga, and if this was his way of dealing with the loss, well, it was better than some.

 It meant Odin was rarely home, and Thor’s rearing became a matter taken on by a widow whom Odin took into his care after her husband was drowned. The arrangement got some looks by other members of the tribe, but the times when Odin was home, he merely sat with Wealhþeow as they shared beer and stories of their lost loved ones. They made Frigga come alive for Thor, these story-filled evenings, and he grew to love her as he loved Wealhþeow.

*****

Loki was Farbauti’s first child, and when she saw he was a runt she wept. He had no hope of being chosen king after his father, not with this small body. She dreaded showing him to Laufey, dreaded his reaction to her failure. But Laufey was warm to the boy, holding him carefully and smiling down at him. Loki could not be king, but he could be trained as a filid, a scholar, learned in poetry and law. In many ways, the fili were as important as the king, and their lives tended to be much safer.

 When Loki was four, he was put into fosterage with Farbauti’s brother; it was uncommon to foster a child to so close a family member, but his small size made his parents protective. Ruadri was a warrior, not a scholar, but his roundhouse was near enough to Laufey’s hill-fort that Loki could easily be taken there to study daily with Vuuno, the court filid. He began with short, easily learned poems, before moving on to epics. Once he knew all the most important poems, he would begin the study of law.

*****

Twenty-one years before this battle, in the year the boys turned seven, the Roman general Caesar attacked both their lands. First he built a bridge across the Rhine, intent on making Germania Major a territory of the Roman Republic.

The Sicambri had little warning that an attack was looming; one minute life in the main village was going as it always had, the next moment a rider on a sweating horse charged down the road, yelling that the Romans were shortly behind him. Wealhþeow had been visiting a friend, commiserating with her over the discomforts of pregnancy in such heat. Fortunately, Helga’s husband was at home, so she could leave immediately. He would take care of Helga; she had her own charges.

Thor and Baldr were near the hut, splashing noisily in the stream and trying to dunk each other when Wealhþeow came running up. “Come,” she shouted at them as she ran into the house. They looked at each other, uncertain, before climbing out to follow her. As they entered the door they saw her leaning forward, speaking urgently in their father’s ear.

Odin rose and began to don his armor as Wealhþeow hurriedly dried and dressed the boys, shushing their questions. Their father finished first, and he knelt by them as their shoes were tugged on.

“You must be brave, my sons, and obey Wealhþeow without question. Can you do that for me?”

They nodded, their eyes wide with alarm.

“My good boys.” Odin’s voice caught as he pulled them both against his chest. “No matter what happens today, remember that I love you, and I am so proud of you both.” He kissed the tops of their heads and was gone.

Wealhþeow tucked a small knife into the belt of her apron and took each of them by the hand, leading them away from the hut, deep into the forest. They huddled together, the boys nestled against her soft sides. Thor tried to hide his crying, to be as quiet as Baldr, but it was too much, he was too scared, and a few small sobs broke out.

He silenced as they heard the distant clank of metal, the shouts of men. They had no idea how long the noises lasted, but finally the forest was again full of nothing but its own noises. Wealhþeow rubbed their feet and legs awake and stood them up. They walked back to the village. It had not been burned, which was a good sign.

Other women and children were also making their way back from the forest, staring around at each other, wondering what had happened. Then the men returned, some of them striding tall and confident, others wounded, limping or dripping blood behind them. And some didn’t come at all. When the king returned, Baldr managed to catch his eye. He shook his head. No.

Thor wanted to break free, to run to the battlefield and find his father, make him sit up, make him say it was all a game. Just playing pretend, son. Odin liked to play with his sons. But Wealhþeow wouldn’t let go of his arm. She pulled at him, and her voice was dim over the rushing in his ears.

“Come, Thor. Maelo is summoning all the tribe, we must go to the meeting hall. I promise, we will go find your father afterwards, make sure he has a proper funeral.”

 _A funeral._ Not a game, at all. He stopped fighting and submitted dully. Odin had never particularly liked this king, and told his sons many stories of the better kings he had known in his younger days. His sons had taken on his dislike, but they still had to follow orders. Especially now. Now that they were orphans. He fought back his tears as he trudged inside.

Maelo sat in his carved chair upon the dais, watching as the room filled with people. He did not look very tired for a man who had supposedly been fighting for so long, Thor thought.

Finally the king spoke. “My people,” he began, “I am pleased to tell you that I have negotiated a permanent peace treaty with Rome, one which will protect all Sicambri now and in the future. Today’s battle was the only one we will have to fight.”

There were murmurs among the crowd. Some people were pleased, but most wanted to fight, to take revenge on the Romans for the deaths they had brought. The king raised his voice and continued.

“Instead, we will send them an annual tribute. This will save us lives, and even save us work and valuables as we will not be needing to constantly forge more weaponry.”

A tribute. That was a heavy weight, indeed. Even if Maelo were right, that when looked at coldly this tribute might be in the Sicambri’s best interest, they were not a cold people. They were hot, and their blood burned for vengeance and freedom. Yet the king was powerful, and no one dared fight him.

“What is the tribute to be?” shouted a voice from the back of the room.

“Ah, that. Goldwork, mainly. Our reputation as goldworkers is known throughout Europe, and it seems it has become desirable. And just once, Caesar demands a tribute of slaves be sent to Rome, to the city itself.”

At that, there _was_  an uproar. Slave Sicambri!It was unimaginable.

Maelo shouted them down. “Because they have killed our men, it will be Rome’s job to care for their orphans. It is only right that they assume this burden.”

Baldr and Thor looked at each other, Baldr grasping the meaning first. He watched Thor’s face crack in anguish as realization washed over him. They were to be made slaves in Rome.

“You just want our father’s lands!” Thor shouted. Until this second it had been terrifying to defy the king so. No longer.  What worse could Maelo do to him than had already been decided?

Maelo answered smoothly. “Those lands that are untenanted will return to the crown, yes. This is what our custom has always been.”

There were more angry shouts at that, but no one seemed quite willing to risk their lives fighting the king, not when their own children did not face slavery. Only Wealhþeow spoke up, her voice shaky.

“For mercy’s sake, let them at least give their fathers’ the proper burials first. They deserve that much.”

Maelo gazed at her coolly. “Caesar has a wagon train of goods returning to Rome in the morning. The children will be on it. He waits for them now.”

Thor’s jaw dropped. To not even be allowed to bury their father. It was unconscionable, against all tenets of their beliefs. Rough hands, those of Maelo’s guards, took the boys by the arms and began to drag them away.

“I’ll do it,” Wealhþeow called after them, held back by the people standing near her. “I promise, Odin will be buried as he should.”

That knowledge was suddenly the only good thing in their lives, and they held on to it desperately. They cried together, the first night, until the Romans beat them for making noise. Silence was their first lesson. More lessons followed, worse ones.

 

 

 


	3. The Pritani Agree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The northern kings meet to discuss their response to Caesar.

While Thor and Baldr were on their way to Rome, Caesar and his troops were travelling westward through Gaul, intent on crossing the Channel and taking Britain. The summer was dying, though, and the water was rougher than they expected, as were the Keltoi who met them. In the end, they conquered little more than a beach in Kent before retreating for the winter. Word reached throughout the island, and it was generally agreed that the Romans would be back. The island divided into two groups: those who wanted to pay tribute in return for keeping relative independence, and those who preferred resistance.

Laufey, and all the tribes of the Pritani, fell into the latter group. He sent messengers to the other kings, inviting them to a peaceful council to discuss how they wanted to approach the matter. He was glad when all four agreed to gather. They met at the shrine on the western shore of Inchunagan, as near to the meeting point of their territories as could be found.

When Laufey arrived with his advisors, he found Ricati, the over-king of the Caledonii, already waiting. He assured Laufey that he had the right to speak for the kings of each of their tribes; it seemed strange to Laufey that a king might himself have a king, but the ways of the Caledonii were rather different, so he decided to simply accept it without understanding. The next morning, Drest of the Cavetii and Pidarnoin of the Venicones arrived, with Talorc, the Epidii king, meeting them near dusk.

By the time Talorc arrived, the others had been drinking all day, and he grinned as he rode up to them, welcome by boisterous cheering.

“So these are the great warrior kings I am to ally with?” he asked, chuckling, as he swung down from his horse.

“You’ll ally all the sooner when you’ve gotten some of this beer into you,” Laufey said. “Ricati brought it, as a gift from the Caerini, and it truly is fit for kings.”

An aide handed a large cup to Talorc, and he took a deep swig. Though the day was beginning to cool, it had been a hot ride, and he was well ready for a drink. “A fine gift it is,” he agreed, wiping the foam from his lips. “Remind me to send to the Caerini when my son is ready to marry.”

Laufey was grateful that everyone seemed to be getting on so well. He had met Pidarnoin before, and Ricati and Drest were second cousins, but most of them were meeting for the first time. They drank and chatted easily for a few more hours before retiring to the tents their aides had assembled for them.

In the morning, before they began their war council, they went to the shrine to leave offerings. The other kings watched Laufey and Pidarnoin with interest.

“What are you offering?” Drest asked curiously, laying down a branch of mistletoe on the altar.

Laufey had walked past them to the shore, about to toss his offering into the lake. He held it up for them to see; it was an iron torc, the ends decorated with spirals feeding into spirals. They took a moment to admire the worksmanship before he whispered a prayer and threw it into the water. Pidarnoin followed with a pair of similarly decorated arm cuffs.

Devotions completed, they moved to the meeting area that had been hurriedly set up by Laufey’s people and began their discussions.

“As you know, I have requested this council to discuss Pritani involvement in the fight against the Romans. There can be little doubt that they will return next year when the weather improves. I have received word that Cassivellaunus, of the Catuvellauni, is becoming the leader of the southern resistance, and I propose that we send a troop of warriors to assist them,” Laufey began.

“I do not doubt that Caesar will return, but what is the need for our involvement? Has any of us ever been so far south?” Talorc asked.

The others shook their heads _no_ , but Drest answered before Laufey could speak. “Just because we have never been so far south, does not mean that Caesar will not come so far north, if given a chance. He wants only a foothold in Britain before he fights to take everything. I agree with Laufey; better to stop him ever taking land anywhere on our island.”

Ricati nodded. “We have all heard of his treatment of our cousins in Gaul, and I do not wish to see such a thing happen here.”

“And what say you, Pidarnoin?” Laufey asked.

He thought a moment. “There was a sickness, two winters ago, that killed many of our warriors. There are few enough left that I do not wish to order any into battle, but any of them who wish to join you will go with my permission and blessing.”

It was a fair offer, and the others indicated their thanks. “And you, Talorc?” Drest asked.

He shook his head. “I do not feel I can commit my warriors to a battle that I do not believe we need fight. However, I give my permission for your warriors to cross safely through my lands, as long as they themselves behave peacefully.”

“You have our heartfelt thanks for that,” Drest said. The Epidii controlled the narrowest point of the island, and the safe passage meant they would not need boats as they made their way southward.

“So which of us is to lead the warriors?” Ricati asked.

“It should be Laufey,” said Drest. “He is young and eager for glory.” His voice was friendly and teasing, but the words were true. Every young king was eager to make a name for himself.

 “I thank you, my friend. It will be the greatest honor of my life to lead the united Pritani into war.”

“I propose a peace treaty among Laufey and each of our peoples, while he is away. We are not always such good friends as we are today,” Pidarnoin said, “and he should not have to fear for his people or lands at a time when he is fighting for us.”

“It is a good thought,” Talorc answered. “I agree.”

“And I,” said Ricati.

“And I,” said Drest.

Laufey smiled at them all. “And I promise that those of my warriors who remain behind shall make no aggressive act against any of your people, in return.”

“When do you propose to go south?”

“After Imbolg, I think. If Brighde visits, we should be at home, that we may return to new children,” he said, grinning at their knowing looks. It was well known that on her festival, the fertility goddess sometimes visited those homes where she was welcomed, and no one wishing for children would ever consider being away that night. “I will meet them here, at this shrine, one week later.”

Everyone agreed, and then it was time for them to reluctantly take their leave. Their tribes might be related, but it was rare that they met with such equanimity, and no one wished to be the first to go. Perhaps if Caesar meant the beginning of harmony among the Pritani, he was not <all> bad, thought Laufey. He was the last to leave, as the tents and furniture were his, and it took his aides time to pack everything up.

When he finally got home and told Farbauti, her eyes shone with pride. She, too, was young and longed for glory, and Laufey leading this troop of warriors reflected on her, as well. When Loki found out, he begged Ruadri to take him along.

“You’re going, and father is going,” he said, “and so is Vuuno. My family and my teacher will be together, should I remain behind?”

“It will be dangerous,” said Ruadri, “and you are young yet.”

“I’m nearly eight,” he argued.

In the end, it was agreed he would go. It would do him good to see more of the world than their own piece of forest. But first they had to survive the winter.


	4. Becoming Aurelius

It took months for the wagon train with with the Sicambri orphans to reach Rome; the city was an impressive sight, even from their miserable position, but they didn’t get to see much of it. Instead they were taken straight to a slave auction. The children were shoved roughly into an animal pen. “We’ll try to stay together, Thor,” Baldr told him as they clung together.

They tried to hold on to one another when a man came and grabbed Thor’s arm, but another man came and pulled at Baldr until their hands slipped apart, and Thor was taken away, still screaming his brother’s name when he was put up on the dais. Several men came up to look at him, feeling his arms, pulling his mouth open to look at his teeth. Then they moved away and they started talking and yelling, until finally the man running the auction pointed to one of them, and he came and took Thor’s hand to lead him away.

Thor fought, trying to run back to find his brother, but the man held his hand firmly and Thor had to chose between walking or being dragged. He chose to walk. He was still a Sicambri, still proud, and he would not be seen being dragged through the streets like a sack. He promised himself, as he walked, that he might one day see Baldr again. He knew deep within himself that it wasn’t true, but it helped. They went only a little way before the man lifted him into a wagon.

After they were away from the auction, the man spoke to him, smiling. His voice was kind, at least. They went through a confusing maze of streets - surely all of Rome wasn’t like this, the man must be trying to make sure he couldn’t go back to find Baldr - and stopped in front of one of the buildings. The man jumped out and motioned to Thor to stay where he was. He wasn’t entirely sure why he obeyed, but the man certainly seemed to be the kindest Roman he had met, so he decided to stay where he was.

The man came back a few moments later with a piece of food and gave it to Thor. He bit into it reluctantly, to find that it was something vaguely like the bread he had been fed upon for the past months, but where that was brown and rough, this was soft and white. There was a drizzle of honey on top, the first sweet thing he had eaten since being taken from home.

While he ate, the man began pointing at things and saying words, then gesturing to Thor. After a moment he realized he was supposed to repeat them.

“Horse,” the man said, pointing before them.

“Horse,” said Thor.

“Cake,” said the man, pointing at his food.

“Cake,” Thor said.

“Master,” said the man, gesturing at himself.

“Master.”

Then the man pointed at Thor and raised his eyebrows in question.

“Thor.”

“Thor,” said Master.

Master let Thor eat the whole cake.

When they arrived at the domus and went inside, it took Thor’s breath away. The floors of the atrium were glowing marble, and the walls were covered in bright frescos. The center of the room had a statue to which Master made a respectful gesture before leading Thor into a smaller room to one side. He left him in the care of an older man who gave him food and bedding, and left him alone. It was only the second time Thor cried since being taken from his home. Being here, in a new and settled place, made him feel more fully how lost he was from everything he had known. He remembered his lessons, though, and cried quietly. He didn’t want to make them have to beat him.

 His new home proved to not be as settled as he thought; he was put to work immediately the next day, packing things into boxes, and the day after that, the whole household was in wagons, heading to a villa in the countryside. A villa which put the domus in Rome to shame, Thor thought, as he gaped around him. He barely had a chance to stare around before he was being put back to work, though. He helped carrying boxes inside until Traianus took his arm and led him away, into a small room off the atrium.

 A boy about Thor’s age was there, sitting next to an older man, both of them hunched over a book. “Marius,” Master said, and the boy looked up, then approached them. They spoke in words Thor didn’t know, and the boy kept glancing at him curiously as they talked. Finally, the boy smiled happily and took Thor’s hand. He led him to another room where several people were working hurriedly, chopping things and stirring pots. Marius said something to the older woman who seemed in charge, then nodded at Thor and left.

 The room was dark and smoky, but it smelled good, and the woman smiled at him kindly as she gave him a knife and a pile of carrots. This quickly became Thor’s life; he spent his nights sleeping on the floor outside Marius’ bedroom, and his days cutting vegetables and kneading bread dough. It was dull, but no one hurt him, and he was fed well enough. After the months in the wagon train, it was heaven.

*****

Thor did not even realize how quickly he was learning Latin, until one morning when Marius caught his arm as he left his sleeping spot for the kitchen.

“Wait, you’re to come with me today.”

Thor was puzzled, but obeyed. Marius took him along to the room where they had first met, and found the old man waiting for them. He had big shaggy eyebrows and a nose like an eagle, and when he turned his eyes to Thor it was terrifying.

“Thor, this is Agapios, my tutor. Father wants you to begin studying with me in the afternoons, Agapios will spend the mornings getting you caught up.”

Thor quickly found out that Agapios could be every bit as frightening as he looked, but only when he thought he wasn’t being paid the attention he demanded. He was a slave, like Thor, though he was from southern Greece. He was a skilled teacher, and Thor made good progress on catching up with Marius in his studies. He learned rhetoric, and mathematics, and logic, and history. The splendor and glory of the Republic, and how greatly it exceeded that of any other culture to ever exist or any to come. Rome was truly awesome, and he learned how what had once seemed a cruelty, selling him into Roman slavery, was in truth the best thing Maelo could have done for him.

Along with tutoring, Thor was gradually made closer to the family. They gave him a new name, Aurelius, for his golden coloring, and occasionally invited him to join them for meals when they had no guests. He learned that Master’s name was Traianus, though he was never to call him that, and Mistress was Prisca. The young mistress was Lucretia; she looked to be a year or two older than Marius, at most. They were kind, and he was grateful to have been fortunate enough to be made the slave of this good family.

 

 


	5. Prophecy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki is excited about travelling south, until he reads what the sky has written upon the water.

The British winter was too long and too harsh, as it always was, but finally Imbolg came. Loki was given his own ring to throw into the holy well, asking for the goddess’ blessing. And then they were packing, and _finally_  riding south.

When they crossed into Epidii lands, they were met with a surprise - Talorc was there with a group of warriors to send with them.

“Over the winter I heard more reports of how Caesar’s troops behaved in Gaul and Germania,” he said, “and I changed my mind. These are forty of my ablest warriors, all of whom are sworn to follow you in fighting the Romans.”

Laufey was delighted; with this addition, they had nearly two hundred men to take south.

Loki was so excited about the trip that he could barely sleep when they bedded down each night. They travelled through the lands of many tribes, and he was fascinated to watch as the landscape changed, growing more open, even marshy at times. Once he even saw an eel swim right past his horse’s hooves. He thoroughly enjoyed every moment, right up into the ninth day.

The sky hung gray and heavy, promising rain, and Ruadri made sure Loki was well-covered in wool before they set off. This land was nearly desolate, especially compared to the beautiful forests of the Pritani; the soil was dull, showing barely more color than did the sky. But all this, he didn’t mind. It was his first adventure.

Until they crossed a stream, and he looked down at the water. The clouds cracked open briefly, letting the sun shine through and reflect in a dancing pattern, and what Loki read there chilled him to the core. He froze, and as his horse clambered up the side of the streambed, he toppled backwards, landing with a splash.

Ruadri wheeled his horse back and pulled him up, only to find him shivering far more than could be explained by a chill. By the Loki finally found the words to speak, the entire delegation had stopped.

“The sky against the water… it was words,” he stammered, a tear running down his cheek. “Writing.”

Ruadri frowned, pulling the boy close. He held on to his shaking shoulders as he sent someone to find Dovoni. Laufey had debated long and hard about bringing their tribe’s oldest and most powerful druid, torn between not wanting to subject him to unnecessary rigors and the desire for the wise counsel he always offered. It was settled when Dovoni arrived at his roundhouse one night and informed Laufey that he _was_  going with the delegation. Laufey was glad, now, as the warrior found them together and explained that Loki had had an accident.

They rode together, back to the bank where Ruadri was still trying in vain to comfort the terrified boy.

“My son, what is it?” Laufey asked, sinking to his knees beside him.

 “There was writing in the water,” Loki said, rapidly drying his tears as he felt the weight of the druid’s eyes upon him. “I… I could read it.”

 “What did it say?” Dovoni leaned close towards him, intent.

 “It- it told of death, and pain, and horror. It said that something terrible waited for us in Gaul.”

 “We’re not going to Gaul,” Ruadri told him gently. “Are you sure you weren’t dreaming?”

 Loki shook his head, vehement. “I was awake,” he insisted.

 Laufey patted his arm, his face compassionate, even as he obviously believed it had, indeed, been a dream. “Back on your horse, Loki,” he said. “We are committed to joining the Catuvellauni, and we must go. But I will not take you to Gaul.”

 Dovoni’s eyes were heavy upon Loki for another moment before he turned to follow the king.

Twelve long days in the saddle brought them to the Catuvellauni hill-fort, where the resistance were building their forces. Loki could still understand these southerners, more or less, but he had to focus on their words, and sometimes needed a moment to process them.

 *****

“But I want to watch the battle, father! Can’t I stand with Dovoni?” Loki pleaded.

“I’m sorry, Loki, but even with Dovoni you might be in the range of spears,” Laufey said. He wanted his son to see battle, he was beyond old enough, but he was still so small… Laufey could not help wanting to protect the boy.

So when the Romans attacked, Loki could not tell what was going on, could only hear the harsh clang of metal and the war cries of the Pritani and Britani, the strange speech of the Romans. He was sheltered in Cassivellaunus’ hill-fort with the Catuvellauni women and children. The women were busy comforting their own children, and Loki desperately wished for his own mother, or for Alaca, Ruadri’s wife, even as he was glad to know they were safe at home.

 The battle raged for hours upon hours before the noises pouring in from outside finally quieted. Everyone looked up as the first footsteps approached, anxious to see who had survived. As the steps drew near, though, they sounded strange. Off.

 When the figures loomed in the doorway, they saw why. It was a group of Roman soldiers, pausing to let their eyes adjust to the relative darkness. Several of the women ran at the Romans with whatever they had suitable to use as weapons, but were quickly struck down by the soldiers’ long swords. The remaining women rapidly herded the children together behind them, blocking them with their own bodies.

 The Roman soldiers poured in, once the brief resistance was over, and quickly had the survivors bound. They were shoved roughly outside, down the fort to where the surviving warriors were trussed and gagged. Loki’s frantic eyes scanned the group, finding his father, but no other Taexali. Everyone else must be among the piles of bodies that littered the battlefield.

 The captives were loaded onto wagons and driven eastward. Loki was with the children, separated from his father, unable to ask what was going on. The Romans fed them dry brown stuff, but no meat or early berries. They were allowed off the wagons briefly, twice a day, to tend to their needs. Only in small groups, and still bound, with no hope of coordinating or executing any sort of resistance.

 They finally reached the seaside, and were loaded onto boats. It was frightening, and Loki was quickly sickened by the motion of the waves, but at least he was able to talk to his father.

“Where are they taking us, father?”

“To Gaul,” Laufey answered, stricken with the realization of Loki’s prophecy coming true. “But then we may quickly cross it to another land,” he added hurriedly.

Loki was not fooled. “There are worse things waiting for us there,” he said.

Laufey knelt, staring into Loki’s eyes as he spoke. “Son, you must promise me. You will try to fight, and escape. I know this, because I know you, but you must promise me, do not make any rash decisions. Act only when it is smart and safe.”

Loki agreed hesitantly. “I want to go home, father,” he whispered as he gave way to tears. Laufey held Loki as he wept for their lost friends, for their lost home, for their lost freedom.

When they landed in Gaul, the children were again taken in separate wagons from the adults. Loki had trusted they would continue travelling in the same direction, but as his wagon turned south, Laufey’s went east. Loki, panicking, watched as his father tried to jump from his wagon to run after his son, and saw a Roman bring the handle of a sword down, hard, on Laufey’s head. Loki screamed as he watched. There was a spill of blood as his father fell, and that was the last Loki saw of him. He prayed for Laufey to be dead, his soul free to be born into a new body. To not be a helpless slave like his son.

 

 


	6. Clever and Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys are praised for their hard work in assimilating to Roman culture. Some praise is good. Some is not.

They travelled for perhaps three weeks. Loki felt dull; he had lost the care to count the days. Finally they arrived in a city and were taken to an auction, where Loki, along with some of the Britani children, was sold. At least he would be with two others, he thought, someone he could talk to. But when they got to their new home, they learned quickly that they would be beaten for speaking anything but Latin. 

They were also beaten for not knowing Latin. The man who seemed to run the household delighted in it, grinning ferally as he brought the whip down on the backs of their legs, laughing when it drew blood. Loki learned quickly under such pressure; the two older children he was with did not. He tried to help them, whispering in the night, but it was never enough to protect them.

One morning, the cruel man, Porcinus, (he was called a _steward_ , Loki learned, and tried desperately to help the others remember) ordered the slaves to clean themselves up in preparation for the master’s return. It was the first time the children had been allowed among the other slaves. They felt safer as part of the larger group, even if Loki was the only one who could really talk to the others. There wasn’t time for much talk before Cassian Severus arrived home, anyway.

 Cassian summoned Loki that evening.

 “So, boy, Porcinus tells me that you are clever,” he said.

 “Thank you, sir,” Loki said nervously. At least the man’s smile was kind. Maybe things would be better now that he was here to keep an eye on Porcinus.

 “What’s your name?”

 “Loki, sir.”

“You’re a growing boy - is Porcinus giving you enough to eat?” he asked with a wink.

“I… I would be grateful for a little more.”

At that Cassian beckoned him closer and tore off a chunk from the loaf that sat in front of him and gave it to Loki, watching him eat.

“Thank you,” he said again when he was done.

 “You’re welcome, Loki. You see, I like clever little boys. Did you know that?”

“No, sir.”

 That night, and every night thereafter, he learned how much Cassian liked clever little boys. He wished he’d never learned a word of Latin.

*****

The first few weeks, when Loki woke up, he didn’t remember where he was; or, more accurately, he forgot that he wasn’t home. Then, after the brief moment of forgetting - perhaps ten seconds - memory would rush over him as he become aware of the pain, both in his bottom, where Cassian made him bloody and sticky, and in his throat, hoarse from screaming. Each time the memory came it was like reliving the abuse all over again, every morning. The torture of this remembering felt even worse, somehow, than the actual cruelties that faced him each day.

Then, as he became accustomed to his new life, he remembered from the moment he woke up. He knew it instantly, exactly where he was, exactly what would happen to him that day.

He would have given anything to have the few seconds of ignorance back.

*****

“Sir?” Aurelius had been waiting nearly an hour for Traianus to look up from his work, not wishing to interrupt him.

“Ah, Aurelius. Have I lost track of time? Your mistress must be furious with me.”

“No, sir, that’s not it. I was just wondering… why are you having me tutored along with Marius? None of the other slaves are.”

“Oh, my boy, I just assumed you knew. When Marius joins the army, he will be placed as a centurion or similar rank; in any case, a rank high enough for him to have his own aide. I am proud to lose my son for the good of the Republic, if need be, but when it became clear that he was to be my only son, I decided to select his aide myself, and see that he got the best training. I am _willing_  to lose my son, but I would prefer not to,” he finished with a wink.

“So I am to be a warrior?”

“You are.”

Aurelius was overjoyed. He longed for the day when he would begin to learn to fight, longed even more for the day when he would really _be_  fighting, helping to expand the glories of the Republic across the known world. He hated to think of all the barbarians shivering in their hovels; allying with Rome would bring them civilization and improve their lives immeasurably. He thought about the Sicambri - the few memories that he still had - thought about the rude huts they lived in. The way the wind came through the walls in winter, the way they had to wash themselves from jugs or in the river.

When he was old enough, he would help them become civilized. It was the greatest kindness that had ever been done him, sending him to Rome, and he wanted more than anything to share his good fortune with the people responsible.

*****

The next spring, Traianus took Marius and Aurelius to Rome to see the renewal of the sacred fire of Mars. He gave each of them a piece of wood to offer, winking at Aurelius as he did so; it was an honor to be allowed to make offerings at this festival, and Traianus likely had to lie about his status to get him included. When they returned to the villa, they took with them a retired soldier, the celebrated Drusus, who had been conscripted at the age of fourteen and rose through the ranks before leaving the army in his early fifties. Traianus had hired him to train the boys in weaponry and battle.

 Before they got to anything fun, though, Drusus made them march. First they had to march twenty miles in five hours; once their feet had managed to callus over the horrible blisters that developed, they had to march the same amount while carrying heavy packs. They were also expected to run, which was better, especially once Drusus began setting up obstacles for them to jump.

Finally, when winter fell, they began to train in weaponry. It proved to be much less fun than they had expected; Drusus outfitted them with heavy wooden swords and shields, dedicated as much to building their arm strength as to their abilities. Spring saw the return of the days of long marches, alternating now with days spent practicing with the heavy weaponry. They had yet to enjoy any of their training beyond the obstacle courses, but they accepted the lectures about the importance of physical fitness and properly conducted drills, and obeyed without question. Aurelius swelled with pride when Drusus told him that he was every bit as good as a real Roman.

*****

Loki had been in Gergovia nearly two years when a current of nervous energy began to ripple through the town. He first noticed it when he was sent to the market to fetch more grain; while he stood humbly, waiting for the shopkeeper to finish with the people ahead of him, he noticed people were fidgeting more than usual, walking around with their jaws locked, and there was a sort of hum in the air he couldn’t quite understand.

It made sense when he got home from his errand. Cassian had several of his friends over, and they were sitting together in the tablinum, talking intently. Cassian liked sitting there; it made him feel powerful and commanding to be at the center of things and able to watch over his household. He never thought - or perhaps never cared - about how easy it made it to eavesdrop on him. And Loki was an excellent eavesdropper. It was the only way to learn anything important. Cassian held a high rank in the town, so many of the important decisions about Gergovia were made right here.

“I tell you, we have been too kind to the Gauls, that’s the problem!” Cassian was shouting as Loki slipped in the back doorway. As though kindness was something Cassian knew anything about.

“The cause does not matter, now. What matters is how we deal with it!” a voice answered. It was an average sort of voice, but Loki thought he recognized it. As the man continued speaking, he realized, yes, it was Quintanus, the Praetor. His word was strong in every decision made for the town.  “We just need to survive until we get reinforcements from Rome. Why, I received word only today that they are sending a legion to put down this uprising, and enough grain to make up for all the fields that have been burned.”

“But there isn’t enough wheat in the stores to last until more arrives. It will be at least six weeks before it gets here, we have only grain enough for two more weeks of food. The Gauls knew well what they were doing when they waited until harvest time to launch their attack.” That thin and reedy voice could only be Regulus, an unimportant clerk who always seemed to know the details of things that Cassian liked to hear.

“It would be more than enough, had we less mouths to feed while we waited.” Quintanus’ voice was coldly rational, and Loki felt a chill shudder through his spine.  

 

 

 


	7. Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gergovia had too many mouths... they had to get rid of some.

 

When Loki returned to the house a few days later, arms loaded with the last of the available carrots at the market, he saw a stream of blood running down the street, trickling through a crack in the wall of Cassian’s gardens. There had been several sacrifices made there before, so he didn’t think too much of it. When he slipped into the house, though, Gallus was waiting for him by the door. He was one of the kinder slaves, and though a Roman, had never sneered at Loki.

“Stop, Loki, don’t go through there. Just stay here,” he told him.

Loki was confused. “But I always help clean up the sacrifices,” he said.

Gallus shook his head grimly. “Not this time, you aren’t. I don’t want you seeing any of this.”

“This what? What’s happening?”

“Quintanus ordered it. Since the grain stores would run out before more could arrive from Rome… he ordered that all households cull their slaves down to two.” He started to put his hand on Loki’s shoulder, meaning to comfort him, but Loki shied away.

“They’re all dead? All but us?” he whispered.

“They are,” Gallus said. “And I don’t want you seeing anything. It’s bad enough you have to know. You stay here in the kitchen until I tell you that it’s all right to come out. Come, crawl in here. I don’t want Cassian to find you idle.” He held open a cupboard door and Loki crawled in.

Time moved torturously slowly. Loki forced his mind away from what Gallus was doing, made himself think instead on the new division of household work. Much of it would fall to Gallus, as Loki was simply too small for many of the tasks that had to be done. Loki would likely be the errand boy and become the cook and cleaner, while Gallus did the heavier work, caring for the horses, carrying heavy buckets of water. He somehow managed to keep his mind occupied with the minutia of his new work, to not think about things he didn’t want to know.

 He managed to string out his ignorance for nearly six hours. That night, Cassian delighted in telling Loki every detail, savoring the tears that his words drew forth.

*****

Loki was too terrified to act on his own behalf; he was small for his age, and he was constantly surrounded by Romans, so much larger than he was, so much more powerful. Too terrified, that is, until the day he was returning home from his errands when he saw more blood running from the crack in the garden wall.

Muttering a silent prayer for Gallus, he turned and ran. His dark hair worked for him; as he ran through the streets, the people he passed took him for a Roman boy. His clothes gave him away as a slave, but for once their arrogance was on his side. It was inconceivable to them that any Roman would ever want to leave their society, so no one noticed as he made his way towards the city walls.

He hid in the shadows until dark, then found footholds enough to scramble up and over the wall. He ran blindly through the dark countryside, stumbling through the burned fields, splashing through streams. He might have run all night, were it not for a pair of strong arms suddenly grabbing him. He flailed, hitting wildly, until the man spoke to him… not in Latin. He was so relieved he could have cried.

 Loki couldn’t understand all the words, but perhaps half were familiar; though the split between their peoples had become a matter of legend, they were both Keltoi. So he answered in Pritani, and it worked well enough. The man seemed to recognize the level of their communication, and spoke simply after that.

 “Come,” he said, taking Loki’s hand. Loki was glad enough to follow him, as the man took him back to a camp, and led him to a tent. Loki didn’t understand everything that was said to the king - for he surely was a king - but then he was left there, and the king was speaking to him in simple words.

 “I am Vercingetorix,” he said. “Do you know me?”

 Loki did indeed know the name; this king, the king of the man who had saved him, was the leader of the Gallic campaign against Gergovia.

 “I do. I am Pritani. I… I want to go home.” Loki did cry, then.

 Vercingetorix let him cry a few minutes before speaking again.

 “Britani?” he asked, unsure whether he had misheard Loki.

 “Pritani… north of the Britani. Caesar came,” he said.

 The king shook his head. He knew of the attack the previous year, how many good warriors had died. This boy’s survival and return home would be a powerful sign that Rome could yet be opposed, that the Republic was not an unstoppable force. He had emissaries leaving soon to request support from the Belgae, to the north of his territory. Surely they could take him to their cousins, the British Belgae.

 “My friends can take you to Britain,” he said.

 Loki’s legs shook. The thought of going _home_ , anywhere on the island, was almost more than he could handle after what he had been through the past year. Home to a place where people were kind to children, encouraged them to learn rather than beating them. Where his mother and Alaca were, even if Laufey and Ruadri were dead or gone.

Vercingetorix spoke quickly to one of the men standing at attention in words that Loki half-understood. The man nodded his agreement and, taking Loki’s hand, led him to a tent. Loki stiffened when he realized that they would be sharing not only the tent but also the bedding.  Fear knotted in his throat and his muscles began go weak and shaky, but he relaxed somewhat when the man just patted his head awkwardly and told him to sleep. His dreams were haunted by memories that shifted into monsters, howling in Latin as they hunted him down. Finally, near dawn, he managed to rest.

 Loki had hoped to see the king again, but his tentmate woke him early the next morning to lead him outside and placed him, somewhat unceremoniously, on a horse. Ado didn’t seem to have much idea how to behave around children, but after Cassian, Loki thought he was perfect. He was finally away from the Romans, safe and free.

They stopped to eat at midday, and Loki was sitting on the grass, looking around happily and enjoying the sunshine, when someone put a piece of bread in his hands. Somehow, suddenly, he was back in Gergovia, an abused slave rather than a free boy. He dropped it and scrambled backwards screaming, clawing at the ground to get up and run.

Ado caught his arms just before he could flee, and held onto him, promising, “No bread, no bread.” As he managed to process the words he was able to breathe again, and gave a shaky nod. After that he was fed on meat, porridge, and apples. Food that tasted Pritani. Tasted free.

 

 


	8. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki goes home, and a new path in life is found for him.

When they arrived at the lands of the Belgae, they explained their mission, and were escorted to the king. Loki was happy to learn that Becurri’s queen, Saina, was a Brigante; her tribe was not too far south of his own people, and it was fairly easy for them to talk together.

 “There is a band going to the British Belgae next week,” she told him, “but if you wait with us here a month, my brother will be visiting, and he can take you with him when he returns home. The Catuvellauni submitted to Rome in the same battle where you were taken; it would be safer for you to bypass their lands completely.”

 What she also thought, but did not say, was that he was in no condition to return to his family just yet. He started at every sudden movement, and his eyes were hollow and frightened. If his mother saw him like this, she thought, the poor woman would cry her eyes out. Better to stay here awhile and begin to recover his equilibrium.

 In recognition of his status, Loki stayed in Becurri’s roundhouse. Life there was not quite like home, but it was familiar enough that Loki was able to relax more than he had in over a year, since the fateful day he read what the sky had written in the water. The Belgae king reminded him of Ruadri, being quick to both laughter and kindness, yet beyond deadly with a blade. Saina was more no-nonsense, stern but fair, and she treated Loki the same as all the other children in her fosterage.

 “I can’t imagine what he’s been through,” she sighed one night to her husband after the children were asleep. “Should I try to be more motherly with him, do you think?”

 “He’s a bright boy,” Becurri answered. “He would know if you weren’t being yourself, and it might make him worry. We can help him best by letting him feel safe.”

 She nodded, and made no attempts at artificial softness.

 Loki did not realize it, but he began to heal, just a little. Becurri was right; Saina’s gruffness was comforting, somehow; it was a sign that everything was all right here, the way she felt no need to coddle him.

 The month passed somehow, at once very fast and very slow. Fast, as Loki was free to run and play with the other children in their free time, even though it was hard for him to enjoy it the way they all seemed to. He did like participating in the sparring classes given to those intended to be warriors. He knew he would never be one himself, but learning to fight, to protect himself, felt good. Time was slow at night, though, when the dreams came to torment him. Things would be better at home, he told himself. He would finally feel safe there. He counted the days until he could go back. He couldn’t remember how long it had taken to get between Taexali and Brigantine lands. Three days riding? Four?

 But finally, the month was over, and Gravicas, Saina’s brother, arrived. After the initial family greetings were done, Saina brought Loki over to him. Gravicas looked a bit like Vuuno, Loki’s old teacher, with the same shade of sandy hair and blue-gray eyes. Surely that was a good sign, that he would be as understanding as Vuuno was, that he would help.

“Gravicas, this is Loki. He’s a Taexali, taken as a slave last year. He escaped during an attack on the city where he was held, and I’ve told him you could take him back to Britain with you.”

The skin around his eyes took on friendly crinkles as he looked Loki over. “Of course I can. You must be eager to get home,” he said, smiling at Loki’s quick nod. “I was lucky to find the time to get away to visit my sister, and I can’t stay long. We’ll leave for Britain in about a week.”

Loki couldn’t help bouncing on his toes with excitement. Becurri’s people were kind to him, but he knew he would feel better once he was off this land entirely, back on his island.

“And,” he added slowly, enjoying the anticipation, “I will send a group of warriors to escort you back to Taexali lands.”

The relief was almost more than Loki could handle. He wanted to run, and yell, and collapse, and cry, all at once. He settled for a heartfelt _thank you_ before excusing himself politely. After everything he’d been through, to be so near the end… he needed to be by himself.

Gravicas watched him go curiously. “A strange child,” he said.

Saina nodded. “We haven’t asked what happened to him, but… it was bad,” she answered. “He’s afraid of sudden movements, and he has nightmares every night. His escort from the Gauls said he’s so frightened of everything Roman, he began screaming when someone put a piece of bread in his hands.”

His jaw stiffened. “We have to drive them out of all our lands,” he said grimly. “Loki looks to be the same age as Brude. When I think of my own son taken like that… tell Becurri he can rely on Brigantine aid if Rome gets near.”

Saina took his hand. “Thank you,” she said.

After a week spent feasting, catching up with his sister, and cementing the ties between their tribes, Gravicas announced it was time to leave. Northern Gaul was flat, and their horses crossed it quickly. Every day Loki’s heart felt lighter, as though he was shedding a heavy winter fur. The sea crossing this time was a thing of fascination for Loki, the ebb and swell of the water as their boat rode the waves, the curious creatures that leapt and danced - “they breathe air, like us, though they live in the sea,” Gravicas told him - and then, at last, the shores of Britain.

 The Brigantes welcomed Loki joyously; Vercingetorix had been right, that Loki would be a sign that resistance was possible, that Roman might was not all-encompassing. The Brigantines had lost several good warriors in the same battle where Loki had been captured, and to see another victim of the same battle returned was a balm to the still-grieving families. Several of the widows gave him pieces of jewelry that had belonged to their late husbands, and it was with heavy arms but a light heart that Loki and his escort set out for home the next morning.

The ride home proved to be three and a half days, meeting no opposition in crossing the intermediate lands. They reached the broad plain surrounding the Taexali hill-fort in early afternoon. The sun was at their backs, blinding the people who came at the sound of their horses, and Loki knew they would send warriors out if he weren’t recognized quickly. His heart sped as his eyes scanned over the small cluster, finding it full of familiar faces. His mother wasn’t there, but -

“Alaca!” he yelled joyfully, urging his horse to a canter.

She raised her hand to block the sun, head tilted in confusion a moment. Surely it couldn’t be… but it was.

“Loki!” she called back, running towards him. Then he was flinging himself down from his horse and she caught up him, covering his head in kisses as she swung him the way he had loved when he was little. A year ago he would have objected, claimed he was too grown for such treatment. Now, though, it meant home more fully than few things on earth.

Someone must have heard her and sent for his mother, because a few moments later, Farbauti was there was well, wrapping her arms around him, tears pouring upon his head.

“Loki,” she gasped, smoothing his hair back out of his face. “We thought you lost forever. Oh, my son.” Her voice broke, and she stood still, just holding him, until the Brigantines approached. She dried her face and reluctantly let go of Loki to welcome them.  Ruadri had survived, it turned out, along with one other Taexali, and several other Pritani, and someone sent a child to find him and bring him back. He came at a run, laughing and crying all at once, and swung Loki high in the air over his head, holding him up like a trophy.  

Deglan, who had become king after it was learned that Laufey was lost in battle, insisted that the Brigantines stay for a great feast, enjoying the hospitality and gratitude of the Taexali. The women cooked non-stop for two days while the men hunted and talked together. Most of the children were left with the women, but Ruadri was unwilling to let Loki out of his sight, especially after the first night when Gravicas had told him, quietly, of what he had learned from his sister. It broke Ruadri’s heart, to know that he had been unable to protect his foster-son from abuse. He tried to ask Loki about it, quietly, privately, but the boy was unwilling to speak, and Ruadri didn’t have the heart to pressure him.

After the Brigantines departed, with repeated pledges of mutual friendship and support, Loki’s life gradually approached as normal as it could hope to become. Farbauti was going to send him back to fili training, but Ruadri remembered his prophecy about horror waiting in Gaul. He didn’t know how truly terrible it had been for Loki, but it was clear that the warning had been a true one, sent by the gods. He had never had the heart to tell of it while Loki was lost to them, but once he was returned home, he told the tale one night after the children were asleep.

And so Ruadri succeeded in convincing Farbauti to have Loki trained as a druid. Dovoni had been killed in the battle with Caesar, but his place had been ably filled by Lugha, a druid from the north of their lands. Loki took to him quickly. He was old, and slow, and safe.

  



	9. Chapter 9

When Lucretia turned thirteen, Traianus found her a good husband. Vincinius Varinius was, like Traianus, a member of the faction that allied with Marcus Antonius against Pompeius and the patrician powers of the capital. He would have liked to find her someone neutral, for her own safety, but the division in the senate and capital was growing sharper, deeper, demanding that no one remain neutral. His own lifelong friendship with Marcus meant he had his pick of young men for his daughter, at least. So he found her a good man and hoped for the best. Vincinius was in his late twenties and reasonably handsome, if one overlooking his hairline and twisted tooth. He seemed to not mind Lucretia’s high spirits that Prisca had never quite managed to suppress, to Traianus’ secret delight.

 It did mean a trip to Rome, though. Traianus preferred to stay in the villa, preferred to keep his family away from the city as hostility grew among the factions. Things seemed outwardly peaceful as their carriages rolled into the city, but that night, as Aurelius settled down to sleep on the floor outside Marius’ door, he heard shouting, followed by the sounds of distant fighting.

 Traianus took the boys with him the next day when they went to see the augur to learn the best dates for the engagement and wedding ceremonies. He was tall and grey-haired, with a nose like an eagle’s beak and eyes that stared far too deeply for Aurelius’ comfort.

 “It is a strange time of year,” he said, “and not the most convenient for weddings.”

 “We can manage with inconvenience, as long as the days are not inauspicious,” Traianus answered.

 “No, they’ll do,” the augur sighed, “but the ceremonies will have to be on sequential days, and soon, or you’ll have to wait a month. Have the engagement tomorrow and the marriage the day after.”

 “I thank you,” Traianus said humbly, making the proper offering.

 “The blessing of the gods go with you,” said the augur, dismissing them with a wave of his hand.

 After they left, Traianus took them around Rome for a few hours before returning to the domus. Marius had barely seen more of the city than Thor had, and they were both awed as they saw the Senate, the Amphitheatrum, the streets packed with stores and dwellings hanging precariously above them. There were people from all stations, wealthy women riding in litters, men of property arguing politics as they strode purposefully, food vendors with boxes hanging from their necks, slaves scurrying about. The boys begged Traianus to take them to see the gladiator fights, but he just laughed.

 When they returned to the domus that evening, Aurelius was allowed to eat with the family. Both Lucretia and Prisca were on edge, waiting to hear what the augur had said, but they both knew their place, holding their tongues and waiting for Traianus to raise the subject.

Fortunately, he made only the barest formalities of greeting them before telling them what they wanted to know.

 Lucretia learned she was to be engaged the next morning, and married the day after that. She took a deep, shuddering breath, but nodded politely. She knew very well that she was luckier than most girls her age; her betrothed seemed to be interested in her for more than children. It was a good start. Still, she did not sleep that night.

 The engagement ceremony was in the atrium of the Aelian domus. Lucretia had no one other than hired attendants, as her friends from the countryside had not been allowed to come to Rome, not with the unrest. She stood stiffly as Vincinius gave her an iron ring, before taking her hand for them to hold the sacrificial knife together and made the offering. That finished, they sat together for a meal. Once he left she was able to bathe away the mist of blood that had settled upon her.

 With a smile, Traianus gestured the boys nearer to him.

 “Do you still want to see the gladiators?”

 “Father! Of course we do!” Marius said.

 “Please,” Aurelius added quickly.

 “All right, then. We must go now if we are to see them all.”

 They wasted no time gawking as they walked through the streets. They were so narrow and twisting that it was impossible to gauge where they were until suddenly the street spilled out into an open area and the Amphitheatrum was before them. Traianus led them inside and took them to the proper seating. It was thrilled to watch the fights, to see the battle-hardened men bent on each other’s destruction.

 Aurelius listened to the conversations around them. One man was lamenting the death of his favorite, just days ago.

 “He was only a slave, Gaius, you fret too much,” he friend replied.

 “He put on good fights, though, Gordianus,” Gaius answered. “Even if he was a slave, he had skill.”

 “Yes, but they don’t really matter. Not like real people.”

 Aurelius looked up at Traianus’ face, uncertain how to feel at the easy dismissal of someone of his own status. Traianus patted his hand.

 “Don’t worry about them, Aurelius,” he said. “You’re a different sort of slave from the gladiators, everyone knows that.”

 He was still uneasy, but tried to let it go. The slave must have done something to warrant him the thumb-down from his owner, ordering his death. Aurelius was trying his very best to be the sort of slave who would never cause displeasure. He just had to learn how to be perfect, and then do it.

 *****

 The wedding ceremony the next day took place in Vincinus’ home. Lucretia carried a torch lit at the family hearth through the streets, escorted by her attendants and family. Her intended was waiting for her at the doorstep, where he offered her a new torch and a skin of water. Her attendants carried her over the threshold into her new home. They spoke their words of consent, and were married. After the customary exchange of gifts, her family left her in her new home. Her eyes glistened suspiciously, but no tears fell.

 They left Rome the next day, returning to the calm and safety of the villa.

 *****

The time began to pass more smoothly for Loki. He spent the mornings helping with chores on the farm and in the roundhouse, and in his afternoons he attended lessons. These consisted mainly of listening to Lugha reciting the words to their prayers and ceremonies, the students repeating his words back over and over until they knew them by heart. The older students had morning lessons, as well, learning rituals and actions, and Loki would sneak away to watch them as often as he was able. It could take twenty years of study to become a fully learned druid, and Loki was desperate to be done sooner.

He was naturally gifted - he knew this as a fact, without arrogance - and he wanted to use his gifts to help his people. And to be prepared to help fight the Romans. He was never able to shake the feeling that Cassian was coming for him, in life as well as in his dreams. The worst thing was that sometimes Cassian _was_  there in life; Loki might see a brown leaf the exact shade of his hair, or be walking past a brook and suddenly the trickling water would sound just like the fountain in Cassian’s atrium. Sometimes it felt like he was living a dual life; one Loki was at home, free, while the other Loki was still in Gergovia, being forever abused.

Springtime saw a huge celebration. Loki’s cousin, Eilise, was to be handfasted to one of the Brigantines who had escorted Loki home. Everything was in favor of the match: Caranci was high-born, the pact between their peoples would be solidified, and the signs sent by the gods indicated their deep pleasure. They had caught each others’ eye in the week that his tribe was visiting, and for the past two years he had been returning often to court her.

Loki was given the task of holding both the fasting cloth and the mistletoe as Lugha recited the words of the ceremony. It was a rare honor indeed, but both Eilise and Caranci had insisted upon it, as they showered praise and appreciation (and sweets, when Alaca wasn’t looking) on him, crediting him with their happiness.

He kept quiet about the nightmares that always worsened when Caranci was around; it was difficult to be reminded of that time, and though he loved his cousin, he was be glad that he would not be seeing the Brigantine anymore.

 

 


	10. Lessons

“Aurelius!” Marius said it without turning his head. Drusus was still watching them as they marched away, and they were under strict orders to conduct their drills in silence.

“What? We’re supposed to be quiet!”

“Aren’t you tired of this? Let’s go to the lake. Once we’re over this hill Drusus won’t be able to watch us anymore. If we swim naked they’ll never be able to tell that the water isn’t all sweat.”

“But-”

“Aurelius, you can’t really be happy doing this all day. March, march, march.” They crested the hill, and Marius stopped and took his arm. “We’re going to be stuck doing it for years once we join the army. Why not have a little fun while we still can?”

Aurelius was hesitant. “Fun doesn’t expand the Republic,” he said.

“Augh! The Republic! Anyone would think you’re the Roman and I’m the slave!”

“Marius, no one will ever look at us and think that.” Aurelius knew perfectly well how much he stuck out among the southerners. He even looked different from the blond Gauls.

Marius' eyes narrowed.  “No, I guess you’re right. And since you _are_  the slave, you have to do what I say.”

Aurelius heaved a deep breath and followed Marius to the lake. They ran, and skipped, and hopped, and did everything other than marching to get there. They laughed as they went, and by the time they were in the water, Aurelius had forgotten all his objections.

And oh, how good it felt to play in the water. To let it, rather than their sore feet, hold and carry them as they splashed each other. Their fingers and toes began to pucker, which should have warned them how long they were taking, but they didn’t pay attention.

“Race you to the far shore and back.”

“You’re on,” Aurelius grinned.

By the time they finished the race - Marius lost, but just barely - their fingers were like dried fruit. And it was that, not their wet hair, that gave them away when they came marching back. Drusus took one look at them and pivoted on his heel to find Traianus. Marius and Aurelius looked at each other anxiously.

It turned out that Marius needed not have worried. He was sent to bed early after being given only a small dinner.

Aurelius, though, was right to fear. He was summoned to Traianus, who waited for him with  Sergius. Aurelius knew him, this man who acted as manager of all Traianus’ slaves, but he rarely had dealings with him. Sergius mostly dealt with field hands, as the house slaves tended to be well-educated and well-behaved. But tonight he would be the one to deal with Aurelius’ misbehavior.

Aurelius found himself stripped to the waist and his wrists bound around a wide pole, his back left bare to  Sergius. The first lash didn’t even feel like a whip; it felt like a tongue of fire, searing its way across his skin. So did the second, and the third. At the fourth, he felt blood begin to soak into the waistband of his pants. By the tenth, it still didn’t feel like a whip. But by then his back was criss-crossed with streaks of agony, and each new lash was another piece of a pattern, rather a single lick of pain.

After twenty, his hands were untied and he collapsed to his knees. He hadn’t started crying until the sixth lash. By the time he was loosed, his face was hot and red, covered in tears that did nothing to cool the burning skin.  Sergius took him by the arm and forced him upwards, steered him to the slave quarters where he was passed over to a woman in simple clothes.

“I am Virgilia,” she said gently. “Lay down on your stomach for me.”

He carefully eased himself down onto the cot and let his tears flow as her gentle hands smoothed an ointment onto his skin. She left him, afterwards, to cry himself to sleep.

In the morning Sergius dragged him back to the villa, his back still stiff and burning. Traianus waited for him again.

“Did you learn anything?” he asked.

Aurelius nodded. He had made them teach the lessons they had tried to offer more gently; he had forced their hand into giving him this whipping. He understood now that could never be a true Roman; he had to exceed than their own ideal. Marius could run off and play in the lake; it was his birthright. Aurelius had no such luxuries. It was a hard lesson, but he was grateful.  “I did,” he answered. “Thank you.”

*****

Loki’s nightmares were coming less often, though his sleep was still troubled. One morning he work to realize that he’d had a different sort of dream, as well. A beautiful selkie was in it, and they played together in warm water, and she kissed him. He woke to find his bed wet with bitter salt, and went to Lugha.

Lugha smiled. “I do not think you were actually visited by a selkie, Loki,” he said.

“But the water…”

“That was not water. You’re beginning to become a man. I can see it in your shoulders, hear it in your voice. I will make the arrangements for your first tattoo.”

It was large, for a first one, but he was glad of it. It was a sacred oak, its trunk following his spine and its branches spreading out along his ribs. It made him feel as though everything that it covered was safe.

Except the first night, when the fresh pain forced him onto his stomach. He used to sleep on his stomach, as a small child. After Gaul, he could not bear it. It wasn’t that Cassian took him that way - he had, but he’d taken him many other ways as well - it was the vulnerability, the feeling that anyone might creep up on him. He tried to sleep, but it was impossible to relax. Finally he got into the beer and drank until he could pass out sitting up, leaning to one side against a support post. He was nervous that Alaca would reprimand him, but after she took in the dark hollows under his eyes, she said nothing.

When it healed, Loki joined the older students, the ones who had recitation all day long, rather than just the half-days to which he was accustomed. It was difficult, at first, to sit and repeat for so many hours on end, but it was both a great honor and a heavy obligation to be a druid, and he was determined to do his best.

And the first tattoo was the only one to give him problems. As his strength grew, reading the signs in the toss of the leaves, hearing them in the patter of rain, he gained more tattoos to reflect his might. Each one that followed made him feel more protected. The night after he got bulls tattooed on his shoulders was the first one in years that he slept straight through.

*****

Pidarnoin continued to show Deglan the friendliness that he had offered to Laufey, but the winter that Loki was thirteen, the Venicone king died of a fever, and Allcallorred, who was elected to follow him, showed no inclination to continue that relationship. Over the next couple of years, matters between their tribes grew tense, then openly hostile. It began with Venicone raiders sneaking into their lands and spying on their holdings, and soon they were stealing Taexali cattle. Farbauti was skilled at husbandry, and she had lent her talents to all the Taexali, resulting in their tribe having much larger, healthier cattle than the surrounding tribes. They had to be retrieved.

Deglan took groups of raiders with him, each time bringing home a few cattle and the heads of a few Venicones. Finally, though, he decided that a broader assault was needed, and one frightening morning he marched away with nearly all the tribe’s warriors, leaving just a few behind to provide protection.

It was the first time in five years that the Taexali had gone to battle, the first time since Loki’s world fell apart. It was difficult to stand and watch them go. As he watched Ruadri riding away, giving him an encouraging wave, he couldn’t help seeing his younger self riding next to him, or his father at the head of the company.

He didn’t sleep that night, or the two nights following. He finally collapsed out of exhaustion, but it wasn’t restful, not really. Not until Ruadri came home safe.

*****

Training with Drusus had always been a serious business, but it took on heavier importance later that year, making Marius no more inclined than was Aurelius to sneak away during drills. Caesar, backed by a single legion, had crossed the Rubicon into the Republic proper, igniting civil war. Things were relatively calm in the area around the villa; Pompeius and the Senate had fled to the south, and they lived safely north of Rome, but it was still a time of increased awareness and worry. Traianus’ close connection with Marcus Antonius, and thus with Caesar, was well known. If things went poorly, it could mean the lives of the entire Aelian family.

“Would we be killed, too?” Thor asked Agapios.

“You needed fear that, boy, we’re both too valuable to be killed. Taken and sold, we’d be; probably into lives much like the ones here.”

Agapios didn’t tell him what would likely happen before that; the family’s slaves would likely be interrogated. For slaves, that meant torture, as it was assumed the slaves would be too loyal to provide useful information except under duress. Aurelius didn’t need to know that, though. He would learn more about what it meant to be a Roman slave soon enough, if the worst happened.

That year, and much of the next, were spent primarily with Drusus; the boys were given to Agapios in the evening, for an odd hour here and there, or when the weather was too bad for them to work outside. Their bodies were changing from more than just the fighting, as well; along with the muscles that began to creep over them, their voices were strange and funny, and they began to grow hair in areas that had been smooth. The muscles were what mattered, though. After a series of initial successes, things were not going well for Caesar; he narrowly dodged a crushing defeat at a battle in Greece, and the Optimate forces backing Pompeius were beginning to move back into areas they had lost.

Traianus was in his study all the time, reading and sending message after message. His face was grim, and the tone of the house lost its laughter as everyone took on the mood of its master. The relief that came with the news of Caesar’s ultimate victory a few months later was palpable.  The army was still busy, of course, but they were now far off in Egypt, and home became a place of safety once again.

 

 


	11. Firsts

 

In the third year after Caesar’s invasion of Rome, Traianus told the boys it was time they saw more of city life. He took them not to Rome, as they expected, but to nearby Perusinus. They had spent more time there, and it was less of a thrill than Rome would have been, but they were hardly going to argue over any break in the long marches that Drusus continued to press upon them.

“What are we doing in Perusinus, father?” Marius asked.

“The baths at the villa are small,” he answered, “and I want you to become familiar with the proper use of thermae away from the eyes of Rome, where you would already be judged lacking. It is my own fault,” he sighed.

“Is that all?” Marius asked doubtfully. Baths did not sound like a particularly exciting reason to visit a city.

A slow grin crept over Traianus’ face. “You’re also becoming young men, and there are other things besides bathing that young men should learn to do properly.”

Aurelius stared. “You mean…”

“A meretrix at one of the brothels in Perusius has a particularly good reputation as a teacher. You’re both to see her.”

The boys stared at each other. They had certainly joked and whispered enough about this, but for it to be actually happening was something else entirely.

“Together?” Marius asked cautiously.

Traianus laughed. “No, I know you’re used to studying and training together, but some things must be learned separately.”

Aurelius heaved a silent sigh of relief. He and Marius were excellent friends, and they had certainly bathed together often enough, but this was different, and he did have some sense of privacy. He also wondered, secretly, if a meretrix would be willing to bed a slave; if she were to refuse him, he would rather it be done without others there to see. A lower class of prostitute seemed much more likely to willingness.

They rode to Perusius the next week, taking rooms at an inn with a relatively decent reputation. It was evening when they arrived, and they did little more than eat their dinners and stroll about the city before retiring to bed. The next day the boys were sore from so much time in the saddle; they were accustomed to walking for themselves, and the odd way their weight sat upon a horse left an unwelcome memory. Seeing the stiff way they walked down the stairs to the main room, eager to break their fasts, Traianus laughed and said they would spend the day at the thermae, and visit the Lupanaria the day after.

The thermae were wondrous; Aurelius had heard of their magnificence, but he had assumed them to be similar to the baths at the villa, only larger. But there were several rooms with different pools, other rooms without pools, where the air temperature was carefully controlled to avoid shocking the body as one moved between pools, even a room just to be strigiled.

Traianus paid their admission and led them into the undressing area, where they tucked their clothes into wall cubicles. He cast a careful eye over the slaves who attended the room before leading the boys into the frigidarium.

“Some people prefer to start with the tepidarium,” he said, pointing to another door out of the changing room, “but I prefer to start with a cold plunge and move to the warm one later.”

They jumped into the cold water, shouting at the shock of it. Marius and Aurelius carefully schooled their faces to look as though they were no more affected by the cold than Traianus was. Aurelius wondered if Traianus truly was so unfazed by the icy water, or if he too controlled his face. There was no way of knowing, after all. It was the duty of a Roman to control his face.

Soon enough they moved into the next room and the tepid water, which felt almost hot after the chilled bath they had just left. “We’ll stay here until it no longer feels hot,” Traianus explained. They certainly adjusted to it faster than to the cold one, and it was not long before he led them into a room of heated air, letting their temperatures adjust before moving to the caldarium, both water and air uncomfortably hot. They swam only a few minutes before climbing out and letting the hot air make them sweat. They watched as some people had pitchers of cold water poured over them, but Traianus led them away from that area to yet another room.

Three slaves hurried over to them, their hands bearing pitchers and strigils. Traianus nodded to them, and the slaves began to carefully oil them, letting it mix with their sweat and rubbing it into their skin before scraping them carefully. Aurelius had always cleaned himself determinedly, running his strigil everywhere he could reach each time he bathed, but these slaves seemed to take off years of dirt and skin.

Traianus laughed at the boys’ amazed faces. “It’s from all the bathing and sweating,” he explained. “It loosens what is hard to remove. You see now why thermae are preferred over private baths.” They nodded, watching ribbons of thick gray sludge puddle at their feet.

Once they were cleaned, he took them back through all the rooms again, this time finishing with a pitcher of cold water over each of their heads. The slaves in the changing room hurried to offer them thick towels as they entered it, dripping. When they were dried and dressed, they went outside to find that dusk was already falling.

Back at their inn, they ate hearty dinners, surprised to find how hungry a day of mere bathing had left them. “It’s the swimming. It’s more work than it feels. Get a good night’s sleep, now, we’ll go to the Lupanaria in the morning,” Traianus told them.

But in their room, tucked into their beds, they boys found it difficult to sleep, knowing what waited for them the next day. “Do you think they make sounds like wolves?” Marius whispered. “Surely they don’t bite like them.”

“I’ve heard they are called lupas because they lick you all over, like she-wolves with their cubs,” Aurelius answered.

“Everywhere? Like between your toes?” said Marius.

Aurelius laughed. “Armpits!” Their nervousness lessened as they began to speculate about where they might get licked.

“Navel!”

“Nostril!”

“ _Penis!_ ” They completely lost it at that, giggling helplessly at the ridiculous thought, until Traianus banged on the wall to shush them.

They settled down after that, though Aurelius found himself oddly unsettled at the thought of a tongue _there_. Surely, surely not. Oh, but if…

*****

The next morning, after breaking their fasts, Traianus led them through a series of roads, much more evenly laid out than those of Rome, and smoothly paved.

They stopped at a building that had a sign hanging over the door with a picture of Romulus and Remus being suckled by the she-wolf. Aurelius had noticed such signs before, when they were in Rome, but had not understood what they meant. He had vaguely assumed that the places were something to do with nursing children. He had certainly never guessed that they advertized lupas.

Traianus led them inside, and a man came to greet them, bowing.

“It is a pleasure to see you, Traianus Aelius, as always.”

Marius and Aurelius looked at each other curiously.  _As always_ ? Marius grinned.

“You as well, Balbinus. I have brought these boys to see Regula, to make use of her special skills.”

Balbinus looked them over. “Fine boys,” he said. “But surely not both yours?”

“Marius is my son,” Traianus said, ruffling his hair. “Aurelius is his slave and companion.”

Balbinus’ eyes narrowed. “My girls do not normally see slaves,” he said.

Traianus jingled his purse. “I will pay extra. I am raising the boys together.”

He reluctantly agreed. “But don’t tell her what you are,” he warned. “She won’t have you if you do. Say you’re a royal hostage from the north.”

Aurelius nodded. He didn’t like it, the thought of lying to this woman he had never even met, but he was too well-trained to argue.

“And for you,” he continued in a brighter voice, turning to Traianus, “who shall it be today?”

“Is Aquilina free?”

“She is. You know the way, sir.”

He smiled and turned to the boys. “Go with Balbinus,” he said. “Make me proud.” Then he was gone up the stairs. He did, indeed, know the way.

Balbinus gestured them to follow him, not upstairs, but towards the back of the house. There was a large, decorated door, and he went inside, leaving them in the hall. There were low voices for a moment before he came back out and motioned Marius in. He gave Aurelius one last, nervous glance before entering and closing the door behind himself.

“Wait here,” Balbinus told Aurelius roughly, “I’ll bring you a chair.”

He returned with a seat and then left Aurelius alone in the hall. It was quiet, but not silent. Muffled sounds came from behind many of the doors that lined the hall. Moans, and cries, and low, flirtatious laughter. He shifted uncomfortably as he waited. A few men left the other rooms, smiling at him knowingly, and other men took their places. Finally, Marius opened the door.

“Your turn,” he said.

“Well? How was it?” Aurelius whispered.

Marius grinned. “You’ll like it.”

He did. Regula was patient, suggesting things he might do, trying things he might enjoy. The act itself was strange and somewhat undignified, but she managed to make him forget dignity, forget being a perfect Roman, long enough to like it very much indeed.

*****

“Loki, have you noticed how Oria looks at you?” Lugha was curious. The girl had been eyeing Loki for months, getting more and more obvious, but the boy seemed not to notice. Yet he was at an age where he certainly should.

“I noticed that she looks, if that’s what you mean.”

“It’s not,” Lugha said. “Have you bedded yet?”

Loki fidgeted uncomfortably. He had never told anyone what had happened to him in Gaul, too afraid to form the words. It was still too close. He was still living those dual lives, and if he gave voice to the shadow-life it might expand until once again that was all that existed. The thought of sex made him sick, but Lugha was right. He was old enough, all the other boys his age had been doing it for months, if not more. If he didn’t soon, he would have to explain, and that thought was even worse.

“I haven’t,” he said dully.

“Do you not like Oria?”

“I do like her.”

He did. She was easy to like. It seemed unkind to use her to convince others that he was normal, whole, but he didn’t see that he had any choice. So, reluctantly, he did. Fortunately, his body seemed to know what to do without him being there fully, and he was able to leave until it was over. Oria seemed satisfied enough, which lessened his guilt slightly. Only slightly, though, and he ended things with her as soon as Lugha stopped worrying, as soon as he was persuaded that Loki was _normal_. Unbroken. Not someone whose mind had to leave in the midst of sex, not someone who had to vomit afterwards.


	12. Old Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They both reach an age of significance in their lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this doesn’t need to be said, but please, please, please do not take foxglove. It’s much more likely to kill you than to do anything like what happens in this chapter.

Marius and Aurelius learned their fate in the same month that Caesar met his. They were seventeen.

Traianus’ shoulders were heavy as he sat down to dinner one night, holding a letter out to Marius. “Your orders,” he said.

Marius frowned as he skimmed quickly through it. He looked up at Aurelius. “We are assigned to the fourteenth legion, the Gemina. We join them next year.”

That explained Traianus’ dejection. The Gemina was an unlucky legion; everyone knew that. After they had lost so many troops at Atuatuca that they had to call in reinforcements, no one wanted to join them. Traianus would certainly have expected a better position for his son considering how strongly he had thrown his support behind the Populares during the Civil War. Or he would have, before Caesar’s death. But now he had no recourse.

“It just needs us there to get it back into shape,” Aurelius reassured them.

Marius doubled his drilling, determined to contribute to the redemption of the legion.

Aurelius tripled his. It was not good enough for him to be as good as a Roman. He had to be better. As Marius slept, Aurelius stayed up working Jupiter’s lightning bolts, the Gemina’s emblem, onto everything he owned.

*****

The foxgloves bloomed late, not many days before Midsummer, as though they were holding off in order to join in the celebrations of the year’s longest day. Loki had watched eagerly as the buds slowly grew, then took on delicate hints of color, before finally bursting into bloom. Lugha had promised him that he was old enough, that this would be the year he would drink the drink. He had helped prepare it for others for several years now, and he had seen the ways they had changed in the time afterward.

He watched and waited for the flowers to go to seed. There was one patch, purple ones, that had bloomed slightly earlier than most, and the day they were ready to be harvested, Loki was there. He knew from experience precisely how much he needed, and it was agonizing to have to wait for a second patch of plants to go to seed. But finally he had enough, and he took them to Lugha. The old man nodded.

“Very good. Call the younger ones, I wish them to learn this as well.”

Once the other students had gathered, Loki carefully ground the tiny seeds into a fine powder, working them with a rounded stone against a large flat one which had been hollowed over time. It spoke to Loki, telling of the ancient ways of this practice; the stone was used for nothing else, and had been flat when it was first set to this use. As Loki worked, Lugha recited the prayers, leading his students along through the ceremonial preparation of the drink.

The powder was mixed into the clear stream water and left to sit until it grew a fur. This depended on the weather, and while Loki had had to wait a long time for the foxgloves to bloom, he had only a short wait for the fur to come. He ate no dinner that night, nor breakfast the following morning. He snuck away briefly in the morning to empty his stomach of its acid.

Lugha led him, followed by the other students, to a cool, dry cave in the oak grove that was  perhaps a half-hour’s walk from the hill-fort. Shelves had been carved in the walls long ago, and Loki set down the flask on one of them. His companions added skins of water and plates of food - mostly fruit, with a little dried meat.

Lugha spoke the blessing, and Loki made the proper responses. And then Loki was ready to be left alone. Lugha put a solid, reassuring hand on Loki’s shoulder and gave him an encouraging smile. “Have no fears, Loki,” he said. “We already know the gods hold you dear.” He nodded at him, and led away the others.

Loki carried the flask outside the cave and sat down in the grass, waiting for the forest to forget that he was there. The forest became more peaceful as its noises grew; there was nothing to disturb the bees from their busy work, nor the birds from their lilting song. There was a thick patch of clover at Loki’s right knee, and he watched as it slowly filled with honeybees, greedy for pollen. He reached over and very, very gently stroked one down its back. Its fur was soft and downy, and it left his skin yellow. The bee didn’t even notice his touch. It was time.

He eased the fur off the surface of the drink and took a deep breath to brace himself before hurriedly swallowing it. He gagged, his body struggling to reject the heavy mold. He fought for perhaps ten minutes to keep it down before losing the battle and vomiting to one side. Away from the bees. He already looked at them as his friends, and he was loathe to disturb them. When the worst of the stomach knots had passed, he braced again and in a quick motion drank down the contents of the flask. He was already worn out from fighting with himself over the mold, and the drink came up not long after he swallowed it.

He was grateful for the fast that preceded this ritual; if his stomach had been full, the vomit would have foul, and he would have had to give up his peaceful spot. This way, though, it sank into the ground and disappeared, letting him remain with his new friends. He didn’t really know how long he would have to wait, so he simply sat in prayer, enjoying the cool morning air and the sounds of the animals that surrounded him.

He grew dizzy, and lowered himself to the ground to stare up at the sky. The clear blue peeked through the gaps in the oak trees, making words he could almost read. He had not read anything written in nature since the fateful day he fell from his horse, but it seemed that he would again today. Strangely, the reminder of that moment did not terrify him as it normally did. He picked up the memory like a ball in his hands, turning it over to examine it curiously. It was gray like stone and white like light on water, and it shone where the sun struck it.

He looked around to find that the trees had yellow halos around them. How odd, to have never noticed such a thing before, he thought. It reminded him of the pollen on the backs of the bees, as though the trees were so abundant with new life and potential that it clung to their very bark. And if the oaks were like the bees, that meant the trees were his friends, as well. He had always believed this, of course, but now he felt the warmth and caring that they radiated towards him.

"You are one of ours, now, Loki. We love you," they said with their yellow glow.

"I love you, too," he answered.

He stood up to walk through the grove, running his fingers across the rough bark of the trees and collecting their glow in his hands. He ran it all over his body until he, too, had golden light all over him. He knew they didn't mind sharing; he had an oak tree on his back, making him one of them.

Loki found a spot where the sunshine dappled across the forest floor and stood still, his face upwards, taking in the sun, just as the others did. He felt it nourish him, casting its peace and caring upon the earth, and he understood that this was what sunlight was: not just light, but love.

He could have been a tree for minutes or hours; trees measure time differently. But then a little boy came into the grove. His bruised eye was as black as his hair, and his legs had blood smeared on them. Loki became a man again and went to speak to the boy.

"Don't be afraid, I won't hurt you," he said gently. "What is your name?"

"Loki," said the boy.

"Loki is my name too," he answered. "Come here. Let me take care of you."

He tucked the small hand in his own and led him back to the cave. He tore a strip of cloth off his shawl and wetted it to wash the boy clean of blood. "There," he said. "Now you're all clean. Come along, I will show you a good place to sleep in the sun."

They walked to a clearing where a huge tree had fallen, leaving an open space in the canopy. The small Loki curled up in the sunshine, and the big one covered him loosely with his shawl.

"You sleep now," he said softly. "When you wake up, you'll feel better."

"Thank you," the boy whispered before closing his eyes and falling peacefully asleep.

  
  


By the time Lugha returned to fetch Loki home, he had had many visions, he had spoken to many gods and read their answers written in the sky, the leaves, the stones. Many of these things he told Lugha: the way he became a tree, the majestic bull that had appeared to him, the things the gods had said to him. But the little boy he kept to himself, in his heart.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	13. Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As they reach adulthood, Loki is slowly becoming better. Aurelius is becoming worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up- I added a torture tag for this chapter. It's a short scene, but rather awful.

 

The next spring, Marius and Aurelius left home. Traianus made a great series of embarrassing speeches at the feast on their last night, while Prisca was proud and silent. As they went to their beds for the final time in the villa (or 'bed,' rather, Aurelius still slept in his place on the floor outside Marius' door), Traianus caught Aurelius’ arm. “A moment, Aurelius,” he said, and led him to the small room where he received his correspondence.

“Sir.” Aurelius stood stiffly as Traianus closed the door behind him.

“Aurelius. You have shown over and over that I made the right choice at the auction ten years ago. Your dedication and loyalty to this family have been unwavering.”

“Thank you, sir. I am very grateful for all that you have done for me.”

“Yes… I have done many things for you, making you into a good soldier. But you must remember, now, why I bought you, why I trained you. And remember it when you go into battle with my son. Your life’s only value is in the protection of Marius. I bought you to protect my son, and if needed, to die for him. I am glad he has such a steadfast friend in you,” he finished, clapping his hand congenially on Aurelius’ shoulder. “You have always been an excellent slave.”

“Thank you,sir. I will do my best in this as in all things.”

*****

It took nearly two months for them to reach their legion. Aurelius dreaded it, despite his outward cheer. He knew that someone there would soon enough ask about him, would say the things that had been carefully avoided. It happened the third night after they arrived at their camp in northern Gaul.

Marius had brought their letters of introduction, which stated that he was to be an assistant to Valerius and learn to become a centurion himself, and that Aurelius was his slave and aide, trained to support him in battle. They were given a tent next to Thracian, Valerius’ other assistant. After dinner on the third night, several men from their area of camp were drinking wine together and Thracian, drunk, grew curious about Aurelius’ appearance.

“So what are you, then? You’re obviously no Roman, and you look like no Gaul I’ve ever seen. Your coloring and build are all wrong.”

Aurelius braced himself. “I am a German, sir.” Hoping against hope that that would be answer enough to suit. It wasn’t.

“A German? This legion has history with Germans. What tribe?”

Aurelius’ throat clenched painfully. There was no way to avoid admitting it. Perhaps if Marius weren’t here, he might have planned a lie. But he was here, so it had to be said. “I was born Sicambri.”

The word fell from his lips like shattering glass. All eyes turned to him.

“Sicambri? The gods jest with us,” someone said bitterly.

Aurelius turned his head. It was Otho, an older legionary, who had been at the fateful battle of Atuatuca. It was only a year after the Sicambri had capitulated to Rome and taken Aurelius, while they were still in Caesar’s good graces. His troops had been ravaged by the Eburones, and in revenge they invited the other local tribes to plunder all that remained. The Sicambri were one of the most vicious and bloodthirsty, and once they finished with the Eburones they turned their hostility towards Rome. The Gemina were decimated at the hands of the Sicambri. And now that was all they would see when they looked at Aurelius, not the Roman he had tried so hard to become.

They were right, of course. He simply had to look at it from their point of view. Were he a Roman, he would not welcome a Sicambri in their midst either.

*****

Each time Loki drank the foxglove, he seemed to grow a little bit better. But it was dangerous to take it, and so each druid drank it only once every few years. He wished he could hold on to the way he felt while it was coursing through him, but the peace it granted faded along with the dizziness and nausea. Not completely, though; he rarely had nightmares anymore, and it was growing easier to control his panics.

Loki’s natural talents, paired with his steely determination, meant he finished his training more than four years faster than most new druids. He continued to work with Lugha, often, learning how to further develop his particular abilities, but by his early twenties he was leading ceremonies and rituals himself. With so much time spent in the caves where the students were taught, and later in the oak groves where he was kept busy with rituals and prayer, his skin was pale, and the way his dark hair hung about his face made him look like the moon hanging in the black sky. So he readily agreed when Lugha suggested he be dedicated to Rheganon, the queen of the night and death. Lugha was growing too old to support their warriors in battle, and he wanted Loki to take over that role from him. Having her stand with Loki as he watched and prayed would be a powerful force for the Taexali.

Loki’s first time lighting the bonfire for Bealtain was bittersweet; Alaca and Ruadri were there, and Farbauti, all watching him with pride glowing in their eyes, but it made the pain of Laufey’s absence fresh once again. He had spent the day helping with the rituals to protect the cattle before they were driven to their summer pastures, but there he was one among many. Here he stood alone, reciting the prayers to bring blessings onto the fire, that its ashes might grant safety to those who sprinkled them on themselves and their homes.

He had periodically taken more lovers, just long enough to ward off gossip and suspicion. They had all been women; that in itself was worthy of some gossip, but he couldn’t face doing… some things, things he’d done with Cassian. And he hated how he was using the women to conceal his secret; he had grown up with them and he thought of them as friends, and they deserved better. So he worked hard to develop the reputation of one who was too devoted to his calling to have time or concern for fleshly matters.

*****

Aurelius spent the next years proving himself worthy despite his birth. He largely succeeded, enough so that the only people who continued to face him with hostility were the soldiers who had actually been at Atuataca. He even built friendships with some of them. Good enough friendships that when a slave was accused of stealing, he was invited to participate in the entertainment.

Lacking an amphitheater in which the slave might be torn apart by wild animals, as was customary, the legion was forced to be inventive. The only complaint made about the punishment that was finally devised was that it was a waste of wine. It was determined, though, that wine would be faster, and most of the soldiers didn’t want to devote too much time to waiting.

The slave was tied to a pole with his hands behind him, lashed too tight to move anything but his head. He screamed, protesting his innocence, but his voice was drowned out by the laughter of the soldiers who crowded around, careful to not miss a moment of this. It was rare that they had such good sport out in the provinces. Someone Aurelius didn’t recognize, a legionary, came forward with a needle and thread, and knelt at the slave’s feet.

His screams grew bloodcurdling as the legionary worked, carefully sewing his urethra shut. He briefly lost consciousness, but was roused by a bucket of cold water thrown over him. Tears began to stream down his face as he begged for mercy.

“We’ll let you die at the end of it,” Marius shouted. “There’s mercy enough for the likes of you.”

“You should be thanking us. We could make this slower if we weren’t so busy,” Aurelius added.

He glowed with pride at the laughter and approving glances that came his way.

The wineskins were brought out, and the slave was forced to drink skin after skin, his jaw forced shut when he tried to vomit. Some of it spilled out of his nose, but they managed to keep most of it inside him. Even with the volume of wine, it took hours for his bladder to burst, and another two hours after that for him to die. Once he lost consciousness for good, though, people began to wander off. There was no amusement after he stopped screaming.

“Truly excellent sport, Aurelius,” Marius said as they walked back to the fort. “You should be proud of yourself for having such an idea. No Roman could have done better.”

The best part of the joke came two days later, when Valerius found the medal he thought had been stolen. When he held it up proudly at dinner that night, the whole room roared with laughter. The slave’s death had been excellent entertainment indeed. And that was all a slave was worth, anyway. Even the smarter slaves - like Aurelius - knew that.

  
  
  
  



	14. Preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Gemina sail to Caledonia and march towards the Taexali hill-fort. Their timing could hardly be worse for Loki.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Character death, not that it's a surprise at this point.

The day Lugha died was the most painful one of Loki’s adult life. The old man had suffered terribly with the cold in his bones, his last winter spent almost entirely in a pile of furs, and even spring had brought him little relief. So Loki wept for himself, and for all those who loved Lugha, but he did not weep for Lugha. His friend and mentor was freed from a body that was becoming a prison, and the gods would soon grant him a new life.

He spent the entire week sitting next to the body, singing to it and sharing stories of Lugha with his fellow mourners. The day of the burial came painfully soon, and every cut he made into the aspen rod felt like it was being cut in his own heart. Yet as awful as it was to do, Loki refused to let anyone else take over; the fe must be perfect to ensure a proper burial. And then it was finished, and Loki had to take it in to give it to the body.

There were arguments over whether or not a druid needed to receive the directions to the afterlife, where he would wait for a new body. Many said that because Lugha had given the directions himself, he would know them already. Loki thought this was most likely, but he had a small nagging fear that the shock of dying might have made him forget, so just before the interment, he leaned down and whispered in the cold ear. As he straightened, he took off his best bronze arm cuffs and placed them in the bowl on Lugha’s chest. His friend would not lack for riches while he waited. 

Then he backed away and nodded, and the earth was piled high.

Loki walked far out into the forest, far enough that no one could hear him screaming his pain. In the years since his homecoming, Lugha had become a rock, buttressing Loki’s hold on the here-and-now, slowly making the shadow-life weaker and fainter. And now he was gone.

Loki spent the night sleeping against a tree. He dreamt of monsters that howled in Latin. He dreamt of bread, and beatings, and violation.

When he returned home, he learned that Roman ships had been spotted in the sea. The next day they made land. The day after that, one hundred and twenty of them began to march inland. Towards the Taexali hill-fort. Towards Loki.

*****

It was impossible to maintain their usual stern Roman demeanor in the face of such rumors. It was whispered throughout the camp that Octavian had decided to invade Britain once again, to take the island that Caesar had failed to conquer. It would establish him, once and for all, as both a worthy successor and as one with the ability to supercede the leader whose very name had become the title of the ruler.

At first, the whispers were ephemeral, barely breathed around the fires at night. But with time, they grew stronger, the words taking on body and strength. And then came a courier from Rome; not only did Octavian intend to invade Britain, the Fourteenth Gemina would be the first wave of the invasion force. It was their chance to redeem themselves after Atuataca, to shed the veil of shame that had befallen them there. If they were part of a successful invasion of Britain, the Eburones and the Sicambri would be utterly forgotten. The isle was small, but wealthy in wood and rich farmland and, best of all, tin.

They had expected to invade in Kent, as Caesar had, but the orders instead sent them north, to Caledonia. There were fewer people there, to resist, it was said; it would make a good base for invading the south. The day they packed up and marched northward, to the furthest extent of Roman territory in Gaul, was one of great pride. It took weeks to march to the shore where the ships waited for them, and just as it began to seem that they would march forever, the legion crested a great hill and saw the sea spread out before them like a silver carpet, the ships no more than tiny toys as they rose and fell with the waves. It was another day’s march after that, but it passed in mere moments.

The crossing to Britain was long and rough; rather than sailing straight across the sea, the ships made a long, looping path following the depths of the channel. They had to fight the current nearly the whole way, as it tried unceasingly to drive them south, and the first glimpse of the British shore was littered with the backsides of legionaries being sick over the sides of the ship. They sailed for nearly a week before making land. The forests were so densely packed in places it was clear that marching in proper formation would be impossible. The situation was a new one, and there were decisions to be made before they could stage their attack.

As the older commanders had reached the ends of their conscriptions and gone home, Valerius had risen to Primus, putting him in charge of the entire legion. Thracian and Marius had climbed as well, becoming the second- and third- highest ranked centurions. The three of them talked late into the night, discussing how to handle the formidable barrier that opposed them. It was almost as though the strange tree gods of the Keltoi were defending them, some of the soldiers began to whisper.

Valerius finally reached his decision. He would remain at the camp with the bulk of the legion, while Marius and Thracian would lead a company comprised of soldiers from each of their centuries. Marius’ troops would follow him on the left side of their formation, and Thracian with his men would be on the right. The legion - or at least a part of it - would finally be twins in fact as well as in name.

There was considerable fighting among the soldiers in the two centuries. No one wanted to be left behind at the camp, not when this could prove to be the battle that would redeem the reputation of the legion. Aurelius did not have to worry; his place was at Marius’ side twice-over, charged by his friend with the destruction of the enemy and by Traianus with the protection of his son.

They rested at the camp for a day before beginning to move, giving the sea-sick men a chance to recover. It was an unusual decision; illness was not usually catered to, but this entire situation was unusual. And once the Gemina was broken, each soldier, whether he was part of the attack force or remaining at the camp, would have to be at his best.

The morning was slow in coming to the eager soldiers, but come it did. Marius and Thracian mustered their force and began to march into the forest. Into the unknown.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	15. Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Taexali and the Romans meet in battle.

The Romans marched through the forest without a known destination. They figured that soon enough they would meet with opposition, and they would crush it wherever it might be. The found it at the evening of the second night, when they broke suddenly  into a huge clearing with a huge hill at the center, and some sort of wooden fence ringing the top. It was obvious that they had been expected; a sizeable group of men were standing, watching them. Both knew that the battle would not begin now. The night was falling too fast. Both knew there would be no sleep, either.

Loki dismissed the sentry, too much on edge to go inside where he could not watch the Romans. It was torture to look upon them again, to hear faint traces of Latin carried across the breeze, to see their uniforms and short hair. But it would be worse to know they were there and not be able to watch.

Marius pointed out the magician standing upon the hill, and Aurelius couldn’t help staring.  He was utterly magnetic even in the midst of his barbarism and inferiority. And then he had no more time to stare, as they were surrounded by chariots raining spears down upon them. Loki, though, could stare. There was a soldier at the front, massive and golden. He was no Roman, no Gaul either. He moved like a force of nature; how fitting, that his armor was covered in thunderbolts.

The battle took almost an hour, the Romans cycling through their troops for rest, the Taexali forced to fight without stop. Finally, it was clear that the Romans could not win, and in their exhaustion, the Taexali allowed them to withdraw. The Romans retreated, taking along only the most mildly-injured soldiers with them. The rest were left to die, rather than risk a further attack once the strange blue warriors had caught their breath.

Once they were back at their temporary camp at the edge of the clearing, Marius and Thracian withdrew in urgent counsel.

“We need to get back to the rest of the legion,” Thracian said. “These people could even now be sending other warriors to attack. They have greater numbers than we do, but these men fight ruthlessly. Valerius should have all the troops at his hand."

"Return in abject defeat, you mean. Run back to camp with a third the company we left with, bringing with us nothing but shame," Marius answered bitterly.

"Better bring them our shame then leave them in ignorance and let them share our ruin."

"What if we withdraw to that clearing we passed yesterday and make camp there, for a time. We can send scouts back here to see what we can learn. Then we might at least take knowledge along with our ignominy."

Thracian sighed. “It is a good plan,” he admitted.

*****

Loki felt his racing heart slowly ease as the Romans withdrew. He kept a sharp eye on them as they moved away, allowing the warriors to move among the fallen and collect both the dead and the wounded. The dead were carried to the druid's caves; Loki and the others would begin tending to them soon. The wounded were taken into the hill-fort. Oria had grown into a powerful healer, and under her skilled hands most of these men would live.

Rheganon was obviously with Loki as he worked his prayers and magic during the battle; the Romans had lost or abandoned nearly sixty soldiers, while the Taexali only had seventeen dead. Loki would not count their wounded, not yet. He knew Oria's talents too well to fear for them.

Once the battlefield was cleared of all but dead and dying Romans, Loki walked down the hillside. He jerked a spear free from one of the bodies, and walked slowly through the plain, stabbing viciously at the wounded. He was nearly at the end of the plain when one of his rough jabs caught the throat of the supine figure on the ground. His heart was still strong, and when the point of Loki's spear hit his jugular, the blood shot forth in a fountain. Loki stepped forward, directly into the middle, letting himself be covered.

Something bubbled in his chest and for one bizarre moment it felt exactly the way the man’s blood looked as it gushed forth, and he vaguely wondered if he were bleeding too, when laughter spilled out. It was unexpected and this was entirely unfunny, but he laughed and laughed as his white skin gave way to a canopy of red, sparkling and stinking in the burning sun.

He stared straight at the Romans who stood watching him, their faces uneasy. Well, let them fear. He was no longer a helpless child. He was a druid, one dedicated to the goddess of death and backed by the victorious Taexali army. They had barely begun to taste the iron of his vengeance.

*****

When Marius and Thracian left the tent where they had held their conference, they found the remainder of their company lining the woods, watching the magician. He was covered in blood and stood laughing at them. It was utterly, unspeakably barbaric. They summoned the troops and ordered a quick removal. No one argued.

It took the rest of the day for the weary soldiers to reach the clearing where they would make their temporary camp. Dark was falling as they pitched tents for the commanders. But finally they were able to rest. All but one.

"Aurelius, I need you to go scout," Marius told him after they ate a late dinner. "It's just not something I can ask a free man to do. You understand." Because it wasn't _scouting_  that he meant, and they both knew it. He meant _spying_. He meant _debasing_. But Aurelius had no status to lose. Perhaps, if he had not been there, one of the common legionaries might have been persuaded - bribed - into doing it. But Aurelius was here.

He slipped some hard, unleavened bread into a pouch at his waist and hung a skin of water from his belt. Better to leave camp at night, in case they were being watched by the Caledonians. It was better to assume that they were. Better to assume the worst.

And worst it proved to be, when after long, exhausting hours he had nearly completed the trek back to the hill-fort, only to be met with a knife sharp against his ribs. The stench of the battlefield curdled in his throat as he stiffened, ready for death.

But they didn't kill him. He couldn't understand their speech, of course - the words were odd, almost like song, and the rhythm itself was lilting - but the knife and the hand pressing him forwards spoke well enough.  

As they marched him past the battlefield and around the side of the looming hill-fort to a settlement of round wooden huts, he tried to memorize as much as he could. It was unlikely that he would leave here alive, but he was a trained Roman soldier, and a well-educated one, at that. His crisp intelligence certainly stood some chance against these miserable people. The focus also helped to keep him calm and controlled.

He counted twenty of the huts before he was roughly shoved inside of one. It was smaller than most, and it lacked the cheery glow of a cooking fire that shone from the holes at the tops of the others. He was tied to one of the logs holding up the roof, and left alone in darkness. He listened carefully for the mechanism used to lock him in. As best he could tell from the rough scraping, it was a piece of wood - heavy, no doubt - set into hooks on either side of the door to stop it swinging open.

He was half asleep when the wood scraped again, and the door swung open. He bolted to his feet, eyes straining to make out the figure in the doorway, no more than a black shape against the bright stars behind it. The door creaked shut.

“You’re no Roman,” said a voice in the darkness. In Latin.

 

 


	16. Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki and Thor meet, and Loki realizes he's met someone who may understand.

“You’re no Roman,” said a voice in the darkness. In Latin.

 “I _am_  Roman,” he answered.

 “ _Born_ Roman?”

 “No,” he answered, reluctantly. “Nor was anyone here, so far as I could see, yet you speak Latin.”

 The speaker ignored his implied question. “You are no Gaul, either, though you almost share their coloring.” The man entered the hut, striking a flint and letting it catch on a small torch. Aurelius could see now who it was. The magician. He was dressed in trousers and tunic, a bright cloak thrown over them. It made him look more like a man, less wild, now that he was cleansed of blood and his tattoos were covered.

 “I was born Sicambri, but I am a Roman now.”

 There was a sharp intake of breath. “How does a Sicambri come to be fighting for Octavian?”

 “I was taken to Rome as a child. I barely remember Germania. How does a Caledonian come to speak Latin?” he demanded.

 “Caledonian.” The magician snorted. “I am Taexali, one of the Pritani. Once again the Romans do not even bother to learn who they are dealing with.”

 “Pritani, then,” Aurelius conceded. “How does a Pritani come to speak Latin?”

 The man looked at him a moment, his eyes glittering in the firelight. He looked like he might be about to answer, but at the last moment he turned on his heels and was gone.

 *****

Loki would have liked to stay longer, but he could feel himself starting to shake and had to get away before the prisoner saw it. It had been bad enough, at the battle, to hear the cries and commands shouted in Latin. It proved far worse to speak it himself, to feel how the words rolled around his tongue before making their escape. He was intrigued by the prisoner, though, all the same. He had heard of the German tribes, but never seen one before. He wondered if they were all so huge and golden. No, he thought, surely even among his own people, this man would stand out. He would go back to see him again, and not just to find out about the legion’s plans.

*****

The magician took the torch with him, plunging Aurelius into utter blackness, relieved only by the few stars that managed to twinkle through the smoke hole in the roof. He hated being trapped like this, bound into helplessness. It made it hard to breathe. With a surge of will, he turned his attention to the few night sounds that had some chance of being man-made. That regular footfall that came at certain intervals must be a patrol. It grew tired over the course of the night, and Aurelius could tell that the man - for there was only one - was not accustomed to long marches. A new guard, then, set up to watch for Romans.

He finally decided it would be best to get some rest while he could. Dawn was already breaking, but it made little difference to a prisoner.

He woke to the sound of his door being opened, and watched suspiciously as two people entered, a woman carrying a plate of food and a man with a spear fixed on Aurelius’ throat. He sat still, waiting for them to leave before he rushed to pick up the crude dish, cramming handfuls of food into his mouth as fast as he could eat. The bread from his pouch was gone hours before, and his hunger was still high from yesterday’s battle.  There was meat, roughly cooked but savory, and greens that were undressed but peppery, and a pile of slimy mushrooms. Those he ate only grudgingly, afraid of poison but too hungry to leave them.

When his stomach was filled, he turned his attention to his bonds. If he were in chains, he might have some hope of using it to wear down the log to which he was trapped, but he was held with a heavy woven rope.

The sort of thing that could be cut, given time and determination. With a slight sneer at the coarseness of the manufacture of the plate, he struck it against the ground, trying to be quiet. The first hit merely chipped it, and so he risked second, louder and harder, strike. This broke it into three pieces, and he picked up the shard that looked roughest and began to saw at the rope.

He had cut halfway through the first of the three plys when the man with the spear was back. So was the magician.  He had read enough about these people’s barbaric practices to know that his life was about to end. He said a quick prayer as the magician took the spear from the guard, and he stood up to at least face his death on his feet. He held his head proudly, ready to die like a Roman.

But the magician just looked at him, his piercing green eyes fixed on Aurelius’ own as the guard knelt. He cleaned up the broken pottery, and then produced another piece of rope from under his shawl, doubling Aurelius’ bindings. And then, with a gesture to the magician, the guard left.

The magician sat on a stool by the door, twirling the spear between his fingers. It was strange, to prepare for death and then not meet it, and it left Aurelius shaken. He could think of no other reason, later, why he would answer the man's questions.

 “What is your name?” the magician asked him idly.

 “Aurelius. It means gold-”  

 “Yes, yes, I know what it means. But I want your real name, not the one they put upon you.”

 Aurelius had to think. It was so long ago, almost as faint as his memory of Germania itself. So he focused on one memory that had not lessened as he wished, of huddling with his brother on the wagon. It was the night after his one and only escape attempt, when their captors had not been satisfied with beating him. Three of them had invaded him, one after the other, and it was bloody and cruel and confusing. He remembered laying curled in a ball, shaking silently in pain, afraid this would be their lives forever. His brother’s hand stroked his hair, and his soft voice soothed him. _It’ll be better in Rome. It’s got to be. Believe me, Thor._

 “Thor,” he answered slowly. “My name was Thor.”

 “This pains you,” the magician said, sounding curious.

 “A memory,” he said brusquely. “That is all.” 

“Tell me.”

 “You tell me your name.”

 The magician laughed. It was low and smooth. “All right, then,” he answered. “It’s Loki.”

 “Loki,” Aurelius repeated, struggling slightly with the unfamiliar ‘o’ sound.

 “Thor,” Loki said. “Tell me your memory.”

He didn’t want to dwell on it; he had pushed it far to the back of his mind, until Loki had forced it forwards, and he would happily have sent it back into the fog of memory. But he was afraid that if he refused, Loki would leave, and his presence was the only thing that broke the tedium of sitting in this empty roundhouse for hours upon hours. So he spoke.

 “It was when I was taken to Rome, with my brother. The men in charge of the conveyance  beat us when we misbehaved, and I remember my brother comforting me. And that’s how I remember my name,” he offered.

 Loki’s face was impassive, and he was silent a long moment.

 “They raped you too, didn’t they?” he said.

Aurelius twisted his hands together. How to make this strange man understand?

“Slaves can’t be raped,” he explained. “We have no rights to violate. And what they did to me, they had to. I was trying to escape. _I made them_ do it.”

Loki’s face contorted briefly. He rose, opening his mouth to speak, but closed it again and left silently.

 Aurelius was left alone with his thoughts. They centered on Loki’s _too_. Surely he meant beaten _and raped too_ , yes? Not that _Loki had been raped, too_.

 A few minutes later, when a silent girl brought him a blanket against the rising damp, he wasn’t so sure.

*****

It was hard for Loki, almost unbearably hard, to hear Thor’s memory. It made him sick to hear Thor say that he deserved it. But even as the familiar feelings threatened him, the knotted stomach and helpless lungs and the rushing in his ears, there was a new one as well. A small spark of hope. _Someone who understands_. Loki had spent so many years alone with this, and now he wasn’t.

As the night grew chilly, Loki fetched his best blanket and asked a serving girl to take it to the prisoner. He couldn’t face him again, not just yet, but he could give him a little of the warmth he had unknowingly given Loki.

*****

Loki was back the next morning, looking almost pedestrian as he carried in a bowl of porridge with berries and held it out.

 “I brought you your breakfast, Thor,” he said.

 Aurelius stared at him impassively. “My name is Aurelius.”

 “Do you want breakfast, Thor?” Loki asked as if he hadn’t heard anything.

 He thought a moment. Was this really worth the fight? He still hoped to escape, and would need every ounce of energy he could get. He reached out and took the bowl, glad that at least he wasn’t being forced to repeat the name. Loki stood silently, watching him eat.

 “Thank you,” he said when he finished. 

“You’re welcome,” Loki answered. “I wonder,” he continued, his voice taking on the hint of idleness that Aurelius was already learning meant he was intensely curious, “do you think the company misses you? Did they notice your absence, or do they think you just another dead slave?”

 Aurelius shrugged. Little point in denying the truth.  “They know I am gone. I was expected back well before now. But what are you, to speak so about me?” he challenged. “A barbarian magician.”

 Loki’s eyes flashed. “I gladly take the name barbarian over that of the so-called civilized world. And I am no paltry magician, but a druid.”

 “The difference…?”

 “We remember the knowledge, and we see to the happiness of the gods, and we _see_.”

 “You see?”

 “We read the signs in ways the pathetic Roman priests can only dream.”

 Aurelius laughed at this. “If you see so much, why do you have these questions for me?”

 Loki looked at him. “If I see so little, how did I know where to find you when you came to spy?”

He had no answer.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My posting schedule may be erratic for the next week, but I am hoping to keep posting daily if possible. Especially now that things are starting to look up! :)


	17. Reason

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki has questions that Thor can't answer.

Aurelius had been left alone for hours, and once they started taking away the pottery when he finished his meals, he could see no way to escape. So when Loki came to talk to him, he was glad of the diversion, if nothing else.

“Thor, you never answered my question this morning.”

 “What was it?”

 “Do you think they miss you?”

“Yes, of course they do. Marius, my centurion, has been my closest friend from childhood.”

“So you were bought to be a friend?”

“A friend, yes, and an aide in battle.”

“Oh, I _see_. Your job is to die for him.”

“My job is to assist him,” Aurelius snapped, unwilling to admit to the truth. “And to stay alive, and to fight for the glory of the Republic.”

“Glory,” Loki repeated bitterly. “How is it anything but shameful to enslave and brutalize children?”

“Of course we make slaves of our prisoners.” Aurelius was puzzled. “ It weakens the enemy and strengthens Rome. Do your people not do this?”

“Prisoners are sometimes kept in bond, for their labor to pay the debts of the deaths they caused, but it is a different thing from Roman slavery. They still have rights, and are not to be abused. Better put them to death than that.”

*****

The door to the roundhouse swung open, much later at night than he usually had visitors, and he looked up expectantly. Loki crept in, a finger to his lips.

 “Thor,” he whispered. “You must leave, tonight. The wicker man is being built to pray for the aid of the gods in fighting Rome, and you are to be part of it.”

 Aurelius’ blood froze. He had read of the wicker men, used by the druids for burning men alive. _Better put them to death then enslave them_.

 “Why are you telling me this?” he demanded. “Aren’t you the one who lights the pyre?”

 “I am,” Loki hissed,” and I’d rather you not be in it.”

“But why? Why do you care?”

 Loki thought a moment. “Let’s say that I’m doing it for the little boy who couldn't help himself.” He reached into his cloak and drew out a knife and pressed it in Aurelius’ hand. “Be safe, Thor,” he whispered.

He took the knife. “I could kill you now,” he said, looking down at it.

“No. No, I don’t think you could,” Loki answered, and was gone. The door hung open.

 Aurelius waited a moment, half-expecting a trap, and then rose and slipped out and into the night. Wondering which of them was the helpless little boy.

 *****

When he reached the temporary encampment, everyone was gone. Everyone alive, that is. The crows and wild dogs had made quick work of the bodies that remained, and time and heat had made the remaining viscera reek so that his eyes watered. There were no bodies on the hastily beaten path back to the beach, at least; the Taexali knew these woods better, but the trees were too thick for them to maneuver for war. So he followed the trampled plants back to the legion.

It took him nearly a week to make his way back to them, eating little more than wild berries, spending the nights shivering in piles of leaves rather than sleeping. He couldn’t rest, not while his mind turned over and over on his last moments with Loki, why Loki had set him free. When he returned, he was so covered in grime that the guards at first took him for a Caledonian, until he spoke to them in Latin, assuring them that Marius would be glad to see him. And he was.

 “Aurelius!” he shouted happily as he approached. It took a moment to realize what sounded so strange. Sometime during those nights in the forest he had begun to think of himself as Thor.

*****

 “So how did you escape?” Marius was eager to hear all the details, the enemy’s weaknesses.

 Thor had already planned out his story. “I was kept in a locked roundhouse, but was untied. Once I figured out their patterns, I overpowered a guard and took his knife.” His stomach rumbled loudly as he spoke, and Marius waved for food to be brought to them.

 “How long ago was that? What did you eat?”

 “I slept out for five nights, and the brambles were full of berries,” Thor said, holding out his arms to show the scratches that covered them. Some, filled with mud, had grown infected and had a noxious ooze seeping from them.

 Marius hissed at the sight. “You eat your fill. I’ll have a bath drawn for you, then you must rest,” he said.

 Thor nodded, his mouth too full of heavy bread to answer. He ate desperately, not stopping until he grew sick to his stomach.

*****

“So tell me, what did you learn while the Caledonians had you?” Valerius demanded.

 _Their druid knows Latin. He understands every word of your commands_. Thor knew he should say it. But he didn’t.

 “They are barbaric,” he said instead. “They eat no bread, and they live in single-room roundhouses covered in mud. My guard fought well, but in a manner very different from our own. That is all I can say.”

 *****

Life at the Roman encampment went on largely as it always had. The tattered remnants of Thor’s company had met up with the rest of the legion; over fifteen hundred men remained to take up the fight against the Caledonians. They waited for orders from Rome.

 They occasionally saw scouts watching them, blond or red hair sparkling in the sunlight from the top of a hill, always too far away for the Romans to attack them. Thor found himself looking to the hills, watching for a dark head instead of the constant stream of light ones. Finally, when he was near giving up, he saw it.

 *****

Thor waited until dark before making his way out of the camp, towards the hill where he had seen Loki. He carried no weapons, not willing to risk any metal that might clang and alert a guard. If Loki wanted him dead, he would be dead by now, burned alive as an offering to his gods.

Loki’s face glowed in the faint moonlight. “Thor. You came,” he said simply.

“I did. I don’t quite know why.”

“Because you know you don’t belong with them.”

“But I do. I prefer them,” he argued.

“You prefer their vile Roman ways to freedom?” Loki asked.

“To barbarian ways, yes,” Thor corrected.

“You choose the lesser part.”

“I don’t! Of course Roman ways are better than barbarian,” Thor protested.

 “How? Name one way,” Loki challenged.

 “Well, the wicker man, for a start. It’s horrible.”

 “Why?”

 “Why is it horrible to sacrifice humans?... I don’t even know how to answer. It seems so obvious.”

“In Rome, they sacrifice animals, do they not?”

 “Yes, but animals, not men!”

 “They think themselves so far apart from nature as to believe men are not animals?” Loki asked. “How can that be?”

 “We are a type of animal, but also different.”

 “As is a cow from a bird.”

 Thor fidgeted. He had been tutored in many subjects, but this was unfamiliar ground.

 “And I have heard, also, that in Rome they sacrifice men not to the gods, but for mere entertainment. How is this better than our way?”

 “You mean the gladiators? But they are only-” Thor caught himself before finishing his sentence, but Loki knew exactly what he was going to say.

 “And if I had let you, who are also _only a slave_ , be put in the wicker? Your death would at least have served a purpose beyond entertaining bored Romans.”

 “Is that who you burn, then? Captives, slaves? These are fit offerings for your gods? Rome would never make such paltry offerings.”

 “No.” Loki shook his head. “We burn criminals, enemies. The gods wish us to maintain order, and this is how we do it.”

 “So why did you free me? You can hardly find a worse enemy than a soldier for Rome.”

 Loki smiled at the wording. _A soldier for Rome_ , now, not _a Roman soldier_.

 “Because you are no enemy. You are a victim of Rome. And I would see you free, Thor,” he whispered.

 Loki’s voice was intense, determined, and it stirred something unexpected in Thor. It felt tangled and confusing, and he stepped closer. Loki tensed and moved back. Thor felt awkward, unsure what to do, until he was saved a few moments later by the first birdsong. It was still dark in the deep woods where they stood, but up in the canopy the sky must be growing light.

 “I must go back to camp,” he said hesitantly.

 Loki nodded. “All right, then,” he said.

 Thor started to turn away, stopped himself. “Will I see you again?” he asked. His throat was oddly tight as he spoke.

 Loki smiled uncertainly, his voice weak. “I think that seems likely, don’t you?” he asked, slipping away into the trees.

*****

Loki managed to wait until he was away from Thor before he let the sick shaking take over. It hadn’t been this bad in a long time, but when Thor had drawn near him it made him feel things he didn’t want to feel. The way his body craved things which his mind rejected made it a treacherous companion, indeed. Yet despite that, there was something comforting about Thor’s presence. He was the only person Loki had ever known who might understand him. Even as his fears tried to push him away from Thor, a small part wondered whether being understood, being able to talk to safe ears, might mean the beginnings of peace. 


	18. Remembering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor remembers something he had forgotten as a child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first chapter where it hasn't felt wrong to say this, so at long last... _Enjoy._

Thor returned the following night. 

“How are your wounded?” he asked Loki. He wasn’t sure why; he’d been the one trying to kill them, after all. Still, he couldn’t help being haunted by the fact that they were probably friends of the man who had saved his life. 

“Our healer is skilled, and she has saved nearly all of them.”  

“Your healer is a woman?” Thor was startled. Doctors were looked down on in Rome, but even so, at least they were men.  

“She is, and we are fortunate to have her here. We are a small tribe, and we cannot afford to ignore the talents of anyone among us. My own mother is so skilled at cattle husbandry that she has to carry a weapon for fear of abduction by another tribe.”  

Thor thought a moment, his mind dwelling on  Lucretia. He had liked her. She had had a quick mind and a sharp wit. Would she have been a healer, or a breeder, had she been given the chance? With her marriage chosen for her, she had little more say over her own life than Thor had over his.  Still, there was the natural order.

“But women are smaller and weaker,” he argued. “Surely it is better for them to be protected in the home.”  

“I’ll be sure to tell that to the men who are alive because of Oria’s care.”  

He could think of no argument. So he simply said, “I am glad your friends will recover.”  

Loki smiled at him. This time it wasn’t weak or uncertain; it was warm and sure. “Thank you. I am as well.” He was tempted to add, _I am glad they survived you_ , but decided against it. Better to keep his attacks focused on Rome itself, to make it easier for Thor to draw away from them. He didn’t argue when Thor said he needed to leave; there was much for him to consider in his wish for the health of those who had been his opponents two weeks ago. 

*****

Thor didn’t come the next day. But the day after that, he did. Loki was back on the hilltop, watching the camp. 

“We have received our orders from Rome,” Thor told him.

“And they are…?”  

“The legion is to leave Britain. Tomorrow we strike camp, and the day after the ships will sail on the morning tide.”

“Will you be on one?”  

Thor looked at him, confused. “What else would I do?”

“You could choose freedom," Loki said simply. "This is likely your only chance to take it, you know that as well as I do. You could live here, with us, or I have friends in northern Gaul who could see you back to the  Sicambri, if you preferred.”  He wanted - hoped beyond hope - that Thor would stay with him. He knew, though, it would do him good to see Thor free of Rome, wherever that ended up being.

Thor frowned in thought. “I’ve never considered leaving Rome. It’s unthinkable.”

“It _is_  thinkable. So consider it. I will remain at this place through the night. At dawn, I will return to Taexali  lands, whether you are with me or not.” Loki wasn’t sure if this was the right move, whether an ultimatum would pull Thor towards him or away. But Thor seemed like he might be weakening, might just require the right nudge from Loki. 

“Why are you doing this?”   

“The same reason I released you before you could be put in the wicker man. I wanted you free then, I want you free now.”  

“How do I know I won’t be put into it if I come back with you?”  

Loki thrilled inwardly. He was actually considering it. But he schooled his face to remain neutral. “Because you will be with me.”

“Ah, but you are not the king.”

“Not even the king will countermand my word, not in this.”

“Oh. I see,” he said, even though he didn’t. “But why do you care?”

_Because there is no one else who understands. Because without you I have no hope_. Loki couldn’t say the words. “Just be here before dawn if you want to be free.”

*****

Thor walked slowly back to the camp. He had much to think of. Not just Loki’s words, though those were a part of it. He thought of how he was beaten while Marius was only reprimanded. The many times he had had to lie about himself. The gladiator who had died, but who was _only a slave._  The slave who was tortured to death for stealing, and worse, how it was laughed at when he was later found to have been innocent. And the worst of all, for Thor. The fact that he had been the one to devise the torture, and how he had basked in the praise of his cleverness. 

He stopped walking, sickened. That man could have been him, and everyone would simply have laughed. For all his hard work to be the perfect Roman, it could have been him so easily. Perhaps Marius would have cared. Perhaps. No one else would have. He did still believe in the superiority of Rome, he couldn’t help it; her armies, her architecture, her dazzling technical feats - no one else in the known world came anywhere close. Even her culture, in most ways. 

But he remembered something he had forgotten as a child. He remembered that he did not want to be a slave.   

He turned and walked, faster now, back to Loki. And freedom.  

*****

Loki watched Thor approach, trying to hide his relief. When Thor reached him, they looked at each other in silence.  

“I’m not entirely sure this is the right decision,” Thor said honestly.   

“You’ll see. In time,” Loki answered.  

Loki knew a shorter, easier way back to the hill-fort, and he also knew where along the way to find the supply stashes that had been left by the scouts who were sent to watch the Romans. Each night was spent in comfort, curled up in big piles of blankets that were kept wrapped in skins against the damp. There was also some food - just dried meat, but good enough - to supplement the berries they ate along the way.  

As each day took them further from the legion’s camp, Loki looked more relaxed and confident. It was paralleled by Thor’s own rising anxiety. He had only Loki’s word, after all, that he would not be burned alive as soon as they reached their destination. No real reason to trust that the king would defer to Loki in this matter, no real reason even to trust that Loki hadn’t simply changed his mind about freeing Thor in the first place. But the legion was gone now, on its way back to Gaul without him, and it was too late to change his mind. There was some peace in that knowledge, if nowhere else. 

  
  



	19. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor and Loki return to the Taexali.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next few chapters, before Thor can understand Pritani, Latin will be in quote marks and Pritani in italics, to distinguish the dialogue that he can't understand. 
> 
> Sorry about the formatting problems, I moved everything from google docs to word online and it stuck in a bunch of spaces where they don't belong.
> 
> Enjoy!

 

The walk back wasn’t entirely bad. On the third day Loki said they were making good enough time that they sat for an hour on a high cliff, contentedly gnawing on their food and watching the crashing waves far below. Most of the path was too narrow for them to talk, and each night they were too tired for much of anything but sleep. Thor had had plenty of time to think, but this was their first good chance at conversation since they had begun walking. 

“Loki?” he began, cautious.

Loki looked at him, his head tilted in question. It was hard for Thor to resolve this man with the terrifying magician who had laughed at them as he was covered in bursts of Roman blood. Right now, Loki was stretched out and relaxed, dressed lightly and casually for the warm day. The breeze teased his hair and his eyes sparkled in the sunlight. Thor was unaccustomed to such mercuriality.

“You never told me how you learned Latin. Were… were you taken prisoner, too?”

Nothing changed. The sun didn’t go behind a cloud. Loki’s posture didn’t change. Not even his face changed. Everything stayed exactly the same.

Yet it was all different. Thor could see that this was that laughing man, now.

But Loki did answer him. He wasn’t really expecting that he would.

“I was seven when Caesar invaded. A group of Pritani  warriors had gone to help fight. I was kept in the  hill-fort, in the king's roundhouse . I heard the battle, and then the Romans came in and took us away.” His voice was hollow, as though he were speaking from a long way off.

“How long did they have you?”

“Two years.” The words were  c lipped, as though Loki were trying to make them end as quickly as he could.

“I’m sorry. I won’t ask anything further,” Thor offered. He was curious, but it was only Loki’s good will that had any chance of ensuring his survival now, and he wasn’t willing to risk it any further.

“It’s all right,” Loki sighed. “Someone would have told you soon enough, if I didn’t. As soon as you learn Pritani, you’d have found out.”

“Will you teach me? It might be good for me to know some of your words when we arrive.”

Loki smiled at him, glad of the change of subject. He rose and led them back to the path, but now as they walked, he took the time to stop and point to things, telling Thor their  Pritani  names. The morning before they would arrive at the hill-fort, Loki taught Thor the words to properly greet  Deglan. 

When they reached the clearing, entering it from the east, rather than the south, as the legion had done, Thor saw it was still surrounded by guards. Word must not have arrived here of Rome’s retreat, then. Loki took Thor by the wrist as he led him forward. 

“What does this mean?” Thor asked, nodding his head towards Loki’s hand.

“That you are… mine, I suppose. Not a prisoner, not with your hands free,  and  not a threat, either.”

“Nor equals.”  Not that Thor really should have expected anything better.

“No, not for now. After all  this , I’d rather you not be killed before we see the king. But soon.”

As they drew near, Loki hailed the guards. Thor recognized a few words.  _King _  was one.  _Peace _ was another.

The guards, even the ones who were significantly older than Loki, treated him with a mixture of respect and friendship. That boded well for Thor’s fate, he decided. As long as he could really trust Loki. He looked around curiously as Loki led him in to the fort, after the guards had nodded and pointed towards it. “The king is within,” Loki told him.

They went straight to the largest hut, one that was half-draped with skins as well as being covered in mud. It was a display of luxury and wealth, to be able to devote them to ostentation rather than utility. The doorway was surrounded by pieces of bronze and iron, animal sculptures and discs inscribed with the same whirls that covered Loki’s body. Thor wondered when he had stopped noticing the tattoos, when they had simply become part of Loki. 

The king’s eyes narrowed as he saw Thor follow Loki inside, but he looked at Thor’s wrist, where he was held by Loki, and said nothing. Loki addressed him, speaking rapidly. Again, Thor knew just a few of the words, but as the suspicion eased from the king’s face, he began to feel… safe. 

_My greetings,_ _ Deglan _ , Loki began. _The Romans have left for Gaul, and I have brought back their warrior. Thor is a_ _ Sicambri _ _slave, and he has chosen to leave them. I do not yet know whether he will wish to stay with us, or to return to his own people, but he wishes for freedom, and I have promised it to him_.

_You make large promises on my behalf_ ,  Deglan  answered.

_I promised no more than what is right. I trusted I could speak on behalf of the king’s justice_.

Loki nodded to Thor, prompting him to speak. _Great king, I beg peace and shelter among your people, and I offer you my sword_. His tongue stammered over the unfamiliar words, but his speech was clear enough to understand him.

Deglan  looked at Thor a moment before nodding to Loki. _He is to stay in your roundhouse until he leaves for Germania, or if he stays, until I_ _ give permission _ .

Loki tilted his head in acceptance. _And he is to be a free man, not a slave,_  he said firmly.

Deglan  hesitated before he spoke. _He is to be free, but watched_.

_Thank you_ , Loki said.

Thor understood that, and he quickly echoed it. He also understood what it meant when Loki let go of his wrist. 

“Walk next to me when we leave,” Loki whispered to him as he led him through the door.

The word of Thor’s arrival had spread. The women stared boldly, not one of them with their eyes lowered modestly as a Roman woman would do. The children danced behind their mother’s skirts, peeking out to catch glimpses of him and giggling. The men kept their hands on their weapons. Loki moved easily among them all, nodding and trading words as he went. Thor watched it all cautiously as he stayed close at Loki’s side.

They were nearly out of the hill-fort when something wet clipped the side of Thor’s head. He put his hand up to find he had been hit with a mud ball. Loki was already whirling, his voice tight with anger. After days of seeing him as a normal man, it gave Thor a start to see the sudden power that flowed through Loki, the air almost crackling with his intensity. _This is what it is to be a druid_ , Thor realized. 

Loki’s eyes narrowed, and his voice, he could tell, was no more than a hiss as he demanded to know who had thrown the mud. With a stir of fabric, Brisa came out from behind her mother’s skirts. He softened. She was only nine, and her father was one of men  Oria  could not save. But Loki could not ignore this slight, not if he hoped to see Thor gain any standing here. 

_Come here, Brisa_ , he ordered.

Thor watched her approach. Her eyes were terrified as they fixed on Loki. “Loki, she’s just a child. It doesn’t matter-”

“It does, Thor. If one slight is allowed, they will only continue. People need to learn that you are not a Roman. They must stop seeing you as an enemy.”

Loki knelt as Brisa stopped before him.

_Brisa_ , he  began. He spoke gently, but loudly enough for the crowd to hear his words.   _Thor is my friend. I know he fought with the men who killed your father, but you must understand that he is not one of them, and he is very sad about the pain he caused. When he was no bigger than you, those same men killed his father, and then they hurt him until he was confused about everything._ _ Do y _ _ou understand that when someone is confused, they might do the wrong thing because they believe it is right?_  

She nodded silently. Her eyes were still wide, but the fear seemed to be ebbing, Thor noted.

_And now he’s here because he doesn’t want to be confused anymore. I want to help him with that, because he is my friend. Do you think you might help me, too?_   


She frowned. _How?_

_The only words he knows are their words, and it might help him to not be confused if he has other words to think in. Can you help him learn_ _ Pritani _ _?_   


Brisa looked back at her mother, who nodded. _I will,_  she whispered. 

_Thank you_ , Loki said formally as he stood up. 

“I think that will be all right now,” he told Thor as they continued on. 

Loki’s roundhouse was nearly as fine as  Deglan’s . It was at the very edge of the  the  group of huts - a group large enough to be called a village, Thor realized now - and its door faced southwest, away from the harsh winds and into the forest. 

“Welcome,” Loki said, opening the door. Thor went inside as Loki paused in the entryway, whispering something to one of the iron pieces that hung outside. “Now  Brigh  knows that you belong here. She is the goddess of the hearth, and she protects us when we are in our homes. It is best she know that you are a friend.”

“Should I greet her as well?” Thor asked, unsure how to behave.

Loki smiled. “I think she will prefer it when you have learned some Pritani. There is no hurry, she understands and is kind to those who are friends.”

*****

It took Brisa three days to get over her shyness with Thor, at which time she apparently decided to treat him like an inordinately large lap dog. It was clever of Loki, he thought, to pair them. He certainly met with many more welcoming smiles when he was being dragged about by a small and perennially messy girl who constantly insisted that he repeat after her every word.


	20. Settling In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor is unsure of his place in the tribe.

Loki's home, despite its luxurious size, was largely empty. Against one wall there was a large and thick pile of skins, topped with several of the same sort of woven blankets they had used on their hike, but they looked plush and soft, not the rough wool that had been waiting for them each night in the woods. There was also a set of shelves that held Loki's arm cuffs and torcs on one shelf, with animal figures and clay vessels of what looked like bits of plants below. The horn of a bull sat at the center of it all, right at eye level. The bottom had stacks of fabric. A table and an armless chair completed the furnishings. More weavings hung on the walls, adding another layer of insulation against the winter winds.

"Someone should be along with bedding for you soon," Loki told him. "I'll have another chair brought, as well."

"Thank you," Thor said, shifting his weight between his feet.

Neither was sure what else to say after that. After a long pause, Loki asked, "Would you like to go swim in the river? We've had many warm days."

 _Warm_  was an understatement. Few things on earth sounded as welcome as bathing, Thor thought, even if it was just in a river rather than in proper baths. "I would like that," he answered.

"I'll see about getting you clothing made. In the meantime, I think it would be better if you borrowed from me rather than continuing in those things," he said with a gesture at Thor's uniform. "People don't really need any more reminding."

"Of course. Thank you," Thor answered. Loki rummaged through the piles of fabric, which turned out to be his folded clothing, pulling out another green shirt for himself and a bright madder one for Thor, and clean brown pants for both of them.

Loki led the way, pointing out small path markers - the strangely red lichen patch on the tree where they turned slightly to the left, the oak tree that had split its trunk and grew back together further up - before they arrived at the river. The water was as cold as the harshest frigidarium, and in the absence of a strigil, Thor found a piece of slate that worked well enough.

When they returned to the village, Loki had Thor go first to show that he remembered the way. The slightest error in woods so dense could mean getting dangerously lost. But Thor did well, and when they got back to the roundhouse, thy found not only another set of bedding, but a meal waiting for them.

"That was kindly thought," Loki said. "I generally eat with Deglan, but he must have thought you might be prefer to be introduced more slowly." Or that he wanted to discuss the new arrival without Loki's presence. He would not countermand Loki in this, but he would be foolish not to seek counsel.

Thor tilted his head in question.

Loki explained, "Deglan, and his wife and foster children, along with my mother and I, and all the other druids and the filid - poets and... lawyers, I suppose you'd call them - plus his closer advisors, all eat together. It's generally about forty people at a meal."

"That sounds more like a feast."

"It's part of the king's role. If he couldn't provide fitly, he would be replaced by someone better able."

They sat on the floor together, each with a bowl full of food. The meal was silent but companionable, After days of dried meat and berries, the stew, with its thick and well-seasoned broth, was delicious, and they ate it gratefully. Sated, they drank their beer more slowly than they had eaten.

"Loki?" Thor began.

"Hmmm?"

"What am I to do here?"

"Oh." Loki had not anticipated the question,  not thought beyond his own need to have Thor near. "At times, you will be a warrior. What would you like to do?"

"You think they'll trust me with weapons?" Thor was doubtful, but he had no other real skills to offer these people in return for taking him in.

"In time." Loki nodded. "I do not expect Rome back for some long time, and even today you would likely be trusted to aid us if the Venicones attacked. In the meantime, you will likely be asked to assist with whatever chores are needed."

*****

'Whatever chores are needed' turned out to be gathering fruit, mushrooms, and firewood in the company of women and children, Brisa taking care to point out every new thing she thought important for Thor to know. The women did some of the gathering, but they mainly stood alert, hands resting loosely on their knives, while the children and Thor did the work of collecting.

Evenings, after the first one, were spent in the great hall of the hill-fort, eating at Deglan's table and watching the lively conversations that bounced around him. Thor bore it in silence for two weeks.

"Is this what I am to be? The companion of children and a silent face at the meal table?" he demanded of Loki.

"For a time," Loki acknowledged. "But that time is already shortening. Have you not seen the changes in how you are regarded, even after these few days? Each day that you are kind to the children, and are guarded by the women, shows that you are not the arrogant and superior Roman that many believed you to be when you came. There was talk last night about taking you on the next hunt, if you understand enough of our language to work with the other men."

"How much must I know? Find out and teach me!" Thor demanded.

To his surprise, Loki went back to the hall that night to ask what Thor would need to know to be included, and from that evening on, they spent the twilight hours working on conversation about hunting. These lessons were exhausting for Loki, eating up as they did the few hours each day that were not dedicated to either his students or his own work. At the same time, though, they offered him fulfillment such as he had rarely known in his life. Thor continued to compare Taexali and Roman ways, expressing his preference for the latter, but his arguments grew slowly fewer as he grew slowly settled.

And the next time the men went on a hunt, they gathered for Loki's blessing, and then they took Thor with them. Loki watched them go, feeling strangely anxious at the sight. Thor strode confidently with the men of the tribe, taller and broader but not looking too terribly out of place in his new clothes that Farbauti had made for him. He carried a spear and a knife given him by Deglan himself. _He has no reason not to return. No reason to leave you_.

But he did not sleep well until the men, Thor among them, returned safely the next week.

Thor returned with a greatly broadened vocabulary. The men had taken great delight in providing enough pantomime for him to understand their adult jokes, slapping him on the back each time he caught on and laughed with them. He still had trouble thinking of the words he wanted to use, but his understanding was growing by leaps and bounds.

After this, while Thor sometimes went with the women and children to gather food, he wore a knife, and took turns standing guard with the women. It was not his turn to guard the day one of the children came across a bear clearing a berry bush, but he had his knife, and he threw himself between the bear and the children. The fight was brutal, and Thor had to be carried back for his wounds to be tended. By nightfall they were festering and he grew feverish.

Loki and Oria worked nonstop for three days, him with prayer and magic and her with her medicines, until the fever broke.

Thor cracked open sticky lids to find Loki's face floating above him. He smiled and fell into peaceful rest.


	21. Fitting In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It takes some work to find Thor's new role in life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

 After Thor nearly gave his life to defend the Taexali children, a general hearing was convened.  Deglan announced that henceforth, Thor was to be considered a member of their tribe, no longer to be watched and guarded. Even those who had lost men in the battle with Rome agreed to it. Everyone had seen Thor's shredded body when he was brought back, and no one could help hearing his pained cries as the wounds tortured him in his delirium. The women all agreed that Thor placed himself between the bear and the children when he could have easily chosen to spare himself. After their testimony was heard, no one wished to speak against Deglan's order.

 

Summer passed, and autumn fell. Deglan made no mention of giving Thor his own roundhouse, and Loki did not mention it. He found Thor's easy breathing at night to bring him to peaceful slumber of his own, and while their conversations were still in Latin if they wanted to discuss anything of much import, even these became easier with time. 

It is easy to speak of broad things. It is easy to say 'summer passed,' or 'Latin became less painful.' Generalities can be made light and pleasant in ways that specific moments sometimes cannot.  Like the moment Thor broke a table in frustration. He had been invited to leave off gathering food and instead join the men in herding and caring for the livestock. At the time, he was glad of the invitation, as he was still unhappy at being given the work of children. Within a week, though, Loki could see him beginning to chafe in his new role. It came to a head one evening as they sat in the great hall, drinking beer and talking. 

Atti, a short, burly man with hair the color of walnut dye, had clapped Thor on the shoulder.  _A good day, yes? _  he asked cheerfully. 

Thor forced a smile. _Yes_ , he agreed. But he said little after that, even compared to how seldom he generally spoke. His Pritani  was improving, but it still took most of his attention just to follow conversations. Loki watched him carefully, his body absorbing the thrumming waves of tension that poured off Thor. They walked back to their roundhouse in silence, Thor brooding and Loki watching. 

Closing the door behind them, Loki spoke. "Thor? What is wrong?"

Thor barely had the words for what bothered him, in Latin or Pritani. But he tried. "I thought doing men's work would be better than the tasks I had been given. But we do even less. There is little beyond standing and watching the animals all day."

Loki struggled to understand. Tending the herds meant they were at peace; it was hard to see why Thor might not find this to be best. "You're... bored?" he guessed.

"I'm not just bored!" It was frustrating, not being able to explain himself, and he  brought his fist to the table to emphasize his denial. He hit it harder than he had intended, and the long plank of wood split, right along the grain. "And now I've made things even worse," he groaned.

"Is there something else you would prefer?" Loki asked cautiously.

"I don't know. But... they already had more than enough men watching the herd. I'm not needed there. I'm not needed at all."

The words struck Loki through the heart. _He_  needed Thor. He had come close, so many times, to opening up, but each time his own fear held him back. He needed to keep Thor happy, keep him here until Loki was ready to speak. His eyes drifted across Thor's massive arms and muscular shoulders. 

"Excuse me. I'll be back as soon as I can," he said suddenly, and left Thor alone. 

Loki was halfway to his destination when he heard the remains of the table being shattered. He moved faster. Engus went to bed early anymore, and Loki did not want to wait for tomorrow.

He was in luck. The glow from the smoke vent showed that the fire had not yet been banked for the night, and he scratched on the door for attention. Engus opened it a moment later, smiling when he saw who it was. _Loki! Do come in, my friend,_  he said, moving back and holding the door open. 

_I hope I'm not bothering you,_  Loki began. 

_Not at all, not at all. Are you here for the figures for L_ _ughanasa _ _? I expect them to be finished in another couple of days_.

_No, not really. I have a question about_ _ Judoc_ _. The last time we spoke, you didn't seem happy with him._

Engus sighed. _He's a good enough lad, I can't say otherwise. But he doesn't seem to have the spirit for metal, and I can teach everything else, but not that._

_Then I hope we might be able to help each other. Thor hates the idleness of herding, and he feels unneeded. I know he is old to take as apprentice, but he is dedicated, and if_ _ Judoc  is not going to be able to follow you, the village will be in _ _need of a new smith one day_.

_You mean one day when I'm too old. It's all right to say,_   Engus smiled. _Have you spoken to Thor of this_?

_No, I haven't. I wanted to talk to you first_.

_Ask him if he might take to it, and bring him to me tomorrow if he is interested. He can work with us for a few days and see if_ _ it suits him _ .

Loki felt the tension ease from his shoulders. _You have my deepest thanks, E_ _ngus_ _, and my blessings_.

The smith bowed his head.  _Then you have my thanks as well,_  he answered.

Loki found Thor sitting in a file of wooden scraps, the pathetic remains of the table. He looked up as Loki entered, but said nothing. His eyes were hollow, and Loki felt a cold hand clench at his throat. If Thor didn't like this idea, he might leave, take Loki's offer to return him to the Sicambri.

"Thor... I was just speaking with Engus. His apprentice is not working out, and he is growing old. I thought perhaps you may like to try metalworking? You would feel every day how deeply your work is  needed, and it would put your arms to good use," Loki said. 

Thor's gaze went to his own arms as he flexed them, his face looking vaguely surprised as he watched the muscles bulge. "Yes. I think I might like that," he said.

The next morning, Loki showed Thor where to find the works and left him with Engus. They had met many times before, and Thor felt immediately comfortable as the smith showed him around the forge, described the tools, and demonstrated the working of the bellows. Thor followed it all intently, and by midday he knew that this was what he wanted to do. He had been afraid that Judoc would resent him, but the boy cast him a grateful look as Engus gave him a final dismissal. 

Loki could barely focus on his teaching for wondering how his idea was working out. After the third time he forgot the words for the middle of a ritual, he dismissed his class early and went to the works. What he saw set him right at ease: Thor was hammering intently on a piece of metal as Engus pumped the bellows for him. Thor looked perhaps the happiest Loki had ever seen; he wielded the massive hammer as naturally as if it had been made for him. Loki watched quietly until he saw Engus gesture for Thor's attention over the ringing blows, and saw the smith nod his approval as he looked over the metal that Thor had been working.

_Loki!_  Thor called, looking up and seeing him. _Come see what I've done_!

_He's got the feel for the metal_ ,  Engus  told him. _It took me nearly a year to do work of this quality._  The bronze sheet was glossy and rich, and remarkably even for the work of a beginner. 

Thor's sense of peace and contentment grew each day that he spent in the works, and Loki began to grow more secure  in the belief that he would stay. His  smiles came readily, and his eyes shone with warmth when he looked at Loki. Loki tried to hide  the way he  couldn't help  looking  at Thor, unable to stop himself admiring how his arms grew  even  more solid and defined with the heavy work, or the way he felt pulled towards him like a lodestone when he cast one of his open grins at Loki.

It slowly dawned on Thor that his life with Rome had been dedicated to death and destruction, while in his life with the Taexali, he gave his might to beauty and creation. And while he hadn't progressed to making figures by the time Lughanasa came, by Mabone , he had.

 


	22. Four Festivals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor continues to settle in to his new life, finding some aspects more comfortable than others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

Lughanasa and Mabon were joyous harvest festivals, and Thor participated in them as much as he could, happy to learn from Loki in the evenings about the gods of the Pritani, his own new gods.

Shamnain was the first time Thor saw Loki celebrating darker rituals, and it was unsettling. The mass slaughter of the livestock for winter was the first time he had smelled so much blood since the fateful day he had fought with the Romans against the Taexali, and the scent brought the battle back to too-vivid life. The sacred bonfire lit the faces of the druids from below, making them look as otherworldly as the spirits whom they welcomed.

"Winter begins today, the dark half of the year," Loki explained as they changed before bed. "But we do not view darkness as a bad thing. Both light and dark are needed, and we honor both of them in the times of transition."

This idea, that darkness was of equal value to light, was a difficult one to grasp. Loki watched the struggle play out on Thor's face. "But light is life," he argued.

"And darkness is death," Loki agreed. "And both are equally needed. The animals died that we may eat, and one day we will die that others may have room to live and grow."  
Thor looked dubious, and Loki was loathe to press him. "It is all right," Loki reassured him. "You will enjoy Yule, and by next Shamnain, perhaps you will feel differently."

It was only after they had banked their fire and taken to their beds that Thor allowed himself to think about how Loki had looked, leading the rituals. He had been powerful. Beautiful. As though he had channeled the gods and was himself to be worshipped.

*****

Winter came harshly, and Thor was grateful for his days in the metalworks with their huge fires. Loki returned from the caves where he taught each day chilled to the bone, and Thor learned to have their own fire built up each day by twilight to welcome him to a warm home. Loki's prestige meant he never wanted for furs nor woolens, and Thor had been given the skin of the bear he killed to keep him warm as they went to the hall for their meals. At night, they hung the furs and skins over the doorway and along the insides of the walls, adding another layer of insulation to their roundhouse.

Not long before Yule, a blizzard struck suddenly. Engus sent Thor home as soon as they heard the winds rise, but Loki, deep in stone caverns, was unaware of the blinding storm until it was too late. He ordered his students back inside, where the air was chilly but not deathly cold, and worried silently. There was enough food for perhaps two days. He had seen a storm like this years before, and it had taken a week before it was possible to move outdoors.

And worse, Thor was just the sort to come looking for him. He knew now that if Thor died, hope would die with him, and he would be lost. At best, he would die himself.  
When he heard Thor's shout at the entrance to the caves, he could have wept in relief. _We're here, Thor_ , he called back. _Come deeper_. 

 _Loki! Thank the gods you're safe,_  Thor said as he ducked under the low opening to the chamber where Loki taught. This space was generally reserved for druids and their students, but these were unusual circumstances, and Loki was confident the gods could be placated for this minor trespass. They had to know what Thor meant to him, and he had always served them faithfully.

 _You shouldn't have come_ , Loki told him. _Now you're trapped as well_.

 _No. Come look,_  Thor answered. Loki followed him to the mouth of the cave, squinting into the wall of whiteness without. Thor knelt and there was the sound of a shifting stone. _Look. I've..._   "I unraveled my shawl and left one end tied to the door of our roundhouse. We can follow this red yarn safely home."

They hurriedly gathered the students and walked in a single file, Thor at the front tamping down the snow for the smaller children to walk more easily, and Loki at the back, gathering the yarn as they walked. Alaca would have his head if all this wool were lost, and he knew it. He might tell the king what to do, but he still listened to his foster mother.

When they got back to the village, it was snowing so hard that it was impossible to see more than a few inches ahead, and Thor nearly crashed into their door. The roundhouses were too far apart to make it safe for the students to return to their homes, so the two men had a full house that night, keeping the fire high and cheerful to distract the frightened children. At least the smallest ones were too young to understand the dangers they had survived, viewing it all as nothing more than some special excitement. Many of the older children wept with relief, and the two men stayed busy all night circling and comforting.

By morning, the ground had a blanket of snow too deep for several of the children to move, but the air was clear. The students left to reassure their families and break their fasts at home, the little ones riding on Thor's and Loki's backs. By the time they had delivered everyone safely home, they were both exhausted, and they ate in silence and fell asleep. They had stores of food, so they made no attempt to leave the roundhouse for the next few days. The days were so short at this time of year that there was little worktime lost, anyway.

On the fourth day of their confinement, Loki left the roundhouse long enough to gather some holly sprigs. _It is three days until Yule_ , he explained. _We must give the holly king a joyful sendoff as he goes to his sleep, even as we welcome the return of the oak king_.

 _That sounds nice_ , Thor answered politely.

Loki laughed and explained about the two kings who were really one, each one sleeping half the year and ruling the other half. _The rule of the oak king sees us back into the light half of the year. You'll like that_.

Thor smiled. _I will,_  he agreed.

The snow began to melt that night in an unseasonable warm spell. By midday the next day, the village paths were muddy, and the only remaining drifts were nestled in deep shadows. The warmth remained right up to Yule, so much so that even though Loki was outside for hours performing the proper rituals, he wore no more than a heavy tunic covered by a warm shawl.

Thor spent the day with Engus, who knew which ceremonies had to be attended and which ones they could come and go as they pleased. It was fascinating, watching Loki do his work, Thor thought. Everyone was bright with cheer, and close friends gave each other small gifts. Thor had given Loki a scrolled pendant that morning, and Loki had given him a glass bead to wear in his hair. Thor had also made Brisa a tiny ring, which she wore proudly. She was just learning to spin and gave him a short length of green yarn she had made. Meals were small and light in preparation for the evening's feast, and by the time Loki set his iron torc reverently on the altar, everyone was eager to begin the festivities.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	23. Faelan and Maedoc

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It is said that the Romans take the lowest in secret, and we take the highest in pride. How is our way lesser? It is both more respectful and more honest."

 

 

The feasting lasted well into the night. Loki sat in a prime spot next to the fire, as was his right after officiating, and Thor sat with him. Their ceremonies had a way of making Loki feel safe, reminding him that one was but one tiny piece of a vast, vast plan. It didn’t make him feel insignificant, as it might have; it somehow served to diminish the bad things that had happened in his life, making his own choices and his own actions more prominent. 

So he relaxed, and drank, and laughed. As the night drew on, and the fire died down, couples began to slip out together. Thor did not pay much attention to them, as he was busy focusing on the conversation, until he watched one particular pair with wide eyes.

_What, Thor?_   Loki asked him with a nudge, his beer sloshing out of his mug. Oh. Maybe he had gotten more drunk than he meant to. 

_Two men, together_ , Thor answered.

_Yes…?_  

_It is… it is not like a man_ , Thor said. 

_You mean unmanly?_ Engus asked, and Thor nodded.

The smith  laughed. _What is either manly or unmanly about someone taking their pleasure where they will? It simply is._  At Thor’s blank look, he said more simply, _It is good_.

Thor frowned.  _No, it is only_ _for women_. He had certainly heard plenty of stories about men together, a disgusting twist of the natural order, and jokes about the character of the low men who would be willing to do such things. Not to mention the punishments when they were caught. 

_Oh! Like they do_ _  in Rome, __you mean_?  Deglan  teased.

Loki could not, would not, let himself think about Cassian. This was a good night, the gods were strong with them after the rituals, and with a surge of will he forced the memory away as Deglan continued speaking. The beer made it easier; it quieted his hyper-vigilance, kept everything on the surface. Took meanings away.

_It is said that the Romans take the lowest in secret, and we take the highest in pride. How is our way lesser? It is both more respectful and more honest._ _ And Faelan and Maedoc  are good to each other. _ Thor frowned, trying to make sense of the words. Loki leaned over and translated, his speech a little slurred.

Thor couldn’t find an answer, and not only because of the language. It was frustrating. There were so many little moments like this, moments where his new life butted, hard, against everything he had always learned and believed, and even as he followed and agreed with Deglan’s reasoning, yet it warred with what he had always known.

_To lay with a man…_  he repeated, helplessly this time.

_You don’t have to_ , Deglan said, _but you might like it._  His eyes darted quickly from Thor to Loki and back. 

Thor was taken aback at the implication. Fortunately, the king was easily shifting the conversation away, teasing someone about their last hunt and sparing Thor having to answer.

Loki was staring into his drink, closing one eye after the other and being highly entertained by the way his reflection jumped back and forth. When he realized how long he’d been doing it, he decided this should be his last one for the night, and drank it down. 

_I’m going to bed,_  he told Thor. _You may stay_.

Thor nodded, his own drink still half-full. “ _I will stay to drink this, if…_  if you’re sure I won’t disturb you when I come in.”

Loki assured him that it would be fine. But when he stood, it seemed _he_ was not. The ground felt like a bog, shifting and unstable, and he lurched dangerously forward towards the fire. Thor jumped up and caught his arm.

“On second thought,” he said, finishing his drink quickly, “perhaps I’ll walk with you.”

Deglan smiled his thanks at Thor, who nodded, and he led Loki out into the chilly night. Loki’s foot caught on the threshold and he stumbled. Thor caught him and put his arm around the slender waist to keep him upright. He felt Loki tense briefly before relaxing against him, and they held together as they made their way back to their roundhouse.

Thor had to be drunker than he had realized, he decided. It was that mixed with Deglan’s  hint that he should take Loki to bed. It certainly wasn’t himself that was responding to the easy shift of Loki’s supple muscles under his heavy tunic, or to the light smoky scent that clung to his hair. No. It was the beer, and the king, and he must remember to be more careful around both in future.

*****

Thor spent much of the next day tending to an utterly miserable Loki, coaxing him to drink some water and eat a little light food. He put some water on the fire to warm before stripping and washing himself roughly. He did miss proper baths, but this was becoming familiar, and the longing grew slowly less. Also, the  Taexali  made soap, a solid yellow thing of fat and lye, which, used with water, seemed to clean better than he would have expected. He also washed Loki's face, thinking it might help him feel better. It did, a little.

"Thank you, Thor. You are good to me," Loki sighed, eyes still closed against the light of the fire. 

Thor tensed at the familiar phrasing. He and Loki were  _nothing_  like Faelan and Maedoc. They couldn't be. "Just trying to help," he said gruffly.

When Loki was still feeling somewhat unwell when the time came to gather for the evening meal, Thor went to collect it from the hall. As he walked down the path, going slowly to enjoy the still-warm air, they turned onto it a ways ahead of him. He watched as he followed, looking for signs. Surely he would be able to tell which of them was the more humiliated, the one who had disgraced himself enough to play the woman's part, to allow himself to be penetrated. 

There was nothing. _Nothing_  at all gave it away. It was confusing, and it made him unexpectedly angry. There had to be something he was missing. 

And when he returned with food, he felt Loki's eyes, heavy upon his skin.

He would not think about the way Loki had felt against him last night, his waist slender beneath Thor's arm. Nor the confusing pull he had felt when they talked on the hill above the Roman camp. Or the thousand thoughts he had rejected as beneath him.It was unthinkable. It was all completely unthinkable. 

*****

The weather broke and winter blew back all too soon. Thor continued to impress Engus with his quick improvement, his instinctual feel for how metal could best be worked that was honed quickly under the smith's expert guidance. The snowdrifts outside were deep, but the forge was hot, and they both worked stripped to the waist for comfort. 

So when the unexpected Venicone attack came, and Thor charged into the fight half-naked and armed with his smith's hammer, it was he, among all the Taexali,  who looked the most like one of them. It was an unfamiliar weapon, but he took to it quickly, his broad arms able to swing its heavy weight in whatever manner he chose. He brought down warrior after warrior, feeling the crush of bones as it shuddered through the handle and up his arm, and he laughed in savage joy at the chance to fight with his new-found people. They still confused him, but he realized, as he fought, that he really did think of them as _his._

And when he glanced to his left, and saw Faelan and Maedoc fighting side by side, working together in unity to bring down Venicone warriors, it was impossible to deny their strength and virility, that their manliness equaled Thor's own. No more than he could deny, when the battle was won and he looked to the top of the hill-fort where Loki stood watching, that Loki was as beautiful as he was powerful. And that he and Thor _were_  good to each other.

In recognition of his ferocity in defending the tribe, Thor was offered his first tattoo. Over the cups of celebratory mead that night, Deglan asked him what he wanted.

Thor spoke to the king, but his eyes were on Loki's. "I'd like an oak tree on my back," he said. 

Loki blushed and looked away, but not before Thor saw his smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reference page has notes on why I wrote their varying cultural attitudes towards sex this way, if you're interested. Some of it's pretty cool.


	24. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki does the bravest, most frightening thing he's ever done.

After the twin revelations that Faelan and Maedoc had nothing at all wrong with them and very much right, and that he and Loki had the potential to be much the same, Thor began to make careful efforts to approach it. He'd never had a relationship, never had relations besides those with prostitutes, so he simply followed his instincts that made him want to be closer to Loki, to sit nearer together at the fire and to walk more closely, perhaps brushing hands.

Each time he tried, though, Loki's body would tense, and he would shift himself uneasily away. Yet he continued to watch Thor. Mostly it was something felt, a weight across his skin when he was turned away. Sometimes, though, he caught it with his eyes, how Loki's face was written with apprehension and longing.

But this is not to say that things between them had become uncomfortable, overall. No, for the most part, they continued to coexist happily, Thor offering a cheerful presence in the roundhouse and Loki gently guiding him in the ways of his chosen people, both in understanding their culture and in the smaller things that he liked best.

"Your hair is getting long," Loki observed one night. "Does it not distract you, having it in your face like that?"

"All the men here have long hair. And... I don't know how to braid," Thor admitted.

Loki laughed. "Come here," he said, picking them out of his own hair and running his fingers through until it was loose and free. "Watch me do one side, and then you can do the other on me, before you try your own. It's easier to learn when you can see what you're doing." He walked through a simple, three-strand braid, explaining each step, and then shifted for Thor to do the other side.

Loki's slender fingers made it look like the easiest task in the world, but Thor felt huge and ungainly when he tried. "I'm sorry. I think I've left some knots in there," he apologized.

"It's no problem. Alaca can give you some yarn to practice on. Would you like me to do your hair in the meantime?"

"That would be kind of you," Thor said.

Loki stood behind him and ran his fingers through Thor's hair over and over, picking out the tangles until it hung like a glistening golden curtain. Thor closed his eyes as Loki gathered up the hair from one side of his face and deftly weaved it back along the side of his head. It was so peaceful and relaxing, to be cared for like this. He couldn't remember the last time someone had taken care of him when he wasn't ill or injured. He had a dim memory of a woman with kind eyes, before he was taken from the Sicambri. Probably not since her, he realized. He gave a sigh of contentment as Loki took up the hair from the other side, working his new glass bead in about halfway down.

It was... lovely, Loki thought, to simply be together like this, his hands moving so easily through Thor's shining hair. The bead suited it beautifully, too; it was a clear blue, almost the shade of Thor's eyes. A warm summer blue that he could get lost in, so, so happily. "There you go," he said, finishing. "It may take a little adjusting before you can sleep comfortably on the braids."

But Thor didn't need any time at all to adjust. Even the hard feel of the bead against his head when he slept on his left was welcome. It was a little piece of Loki, close to him.

He got the tattoo the week after Loki did his hair for the first time. It took from dawn to dusk, and when it was done he was ordered to stay in the warmth of the roundhouse, without a shirt, until it healed. Nor was he to get warm enough to sweat, so he had to forgo his days with Engus, the only part of getting the tattoo he didn't like. Though he couldn't see it, he loved the thought of it on him, the strong trunk running up his own spine, and the proud branches along his ribs. Loki was still gone all day, working with his students, praying over the sick, and preparing for the upcoming festival, but he sat with him in the evenings, telling stories about anything he thought might be entertaining to liven Thor's day. When he was able to return to the forge, his skin felt tight across his back, like he couldn't move fully, but it soon eased with a cream that Oria gave him. And it was well worth it. Like the bead in his hair, it made him feel close in the only way Loki seemed willing to allow.

Thor bore his growing longing in silence for a time, hoping that his gentle approach would ease things, but when Imbolg came with its promise of new life and new joy, Thor took these promises to heart and resolved to speak as soon as he steeled his nerve.

*****

“I can’t tell how you feel about me, Loki,” Thor told him as they sat by their fire, sharing an evening beer. “I see how you look at me, but when I try to get close you always move away.”

Loki didn’t want this. He wanted to leap up, to run, but he forced himself to remain seated. “What do you want me to say?” he asked quietly.

“Just tell me how you feel. Do you care about me?”

Loki’s eyes rose hesitantly, meeting Thor’s. “I do.”

“Then… may I kiss you?”

He took a deep breath and nodded. And Thor’s lips were on his, barely there but sending need shivering through him all the same, like an invisible wind setting trees to dancing. This was somehow, actually, _all right_. Loki sobbed in relief, Thor taking the sound as a signal to deepen the kiss. He nibbled lightly on Loki’s lower lip before sliding his tongue forward, humming lightly in pleasure. It was… nice. Loki liked this, the way their lips and tongues felt as they moved together, stroking, teasing.

Until Thor cradled a hand to the back of his head, and suddenly Cassian was there, his hands on Loki’s head, forcing something else between Loki’s lips. Loki wanted to kick and bite and shove as his heart constricted and stomach tightened and his skin was instantly frozen, but he forced himself to stay still. _It’s Thor, Thor_ , he lectured himself. _Not Cassian._  So Loki’s body stayed with Thor while his mind fled.

Thor felt Loki’s body change, somehow, and he reluctantly opened his eyes to find something horrible. Loki’s eyes were wide open, glassy and staring blankly, the skin around them tight and wrong. Thor jerked back.

“Loki… _Loki_!”

Loki came back with a start, blinking at Thor. “What? What’s wrong?”

“ _What’s wrong_? I opened my eyes, and… you weren’t there. I don’t know where you were, but you weren’t with me.” Thor’s face looked sickened.

Loki had no idea it was obvious when he went away. No one else had ever seemed to notice. He decided bluster was the best defense. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Come, kiss me again.”

But Thor was shaking his head, drawing away. “No. I can’t. Not like that. It was wrong.”

“Please, Thor. It’s not my fault, I can’t help being like this.” Loki could have wept as he tugged at Thor's arm, trying to hold onto him.

“Like what?” Thor looked worried now, concerned as well as sick. His voice was gentle.

Loki stared hard at the floor before he answered in a pained and bitter voice. “Broken.” He looked up and everything was gone from Thor’s face except concern and caring.

“Why do you say that?” Thor’s voice was soft, barely above a whisper. He cared. And he’d been there, too. He could understand. So with a surge of determination, Loki did the bravest, most frightening thing he’d ever done.

He told Thor.

Once he began it all came spilling out, everything that had been done to break him, and the way that even now, twenty years later, something would happen and he’d be right back in Gergovia. It took nearly an hour to tell it. He was sobbing as he spoke, and was violently sick twice. Thor held his hair back and brought him water to cleanse his mouth. Thor didn’t sneer, or laugh, or pity. He listened and offered compassion without condescension.

When he was done with all of it, wrung into exhaustion, he looked again at Thor. “And that,” he said, “is why I am broken.”

Thor’s eyes glowed in a strange mix of compassion and fierceness. “You are not broken, Loki,” he said. “You are more brave than anyone I have ever known.”

Loki laughed hollowly.

“I mean it. You have survived so much, and carry such a burden, and yet every day you continue to live your life. I don’t know how many people could do that.” His voice grew cautious, hesitant. “May I hold you?”

He wanted the comfort Thor offered. Every part of him cried out for it, but the thought of being wrapped in arms so much stronger than his own was overwhelming. It was simply too much to bear after thoughts of Cassian. “Hold my hand?” he asked in a tremulous voice, reaching his hand out.

Thor took it and held it. No pressure, no questions as he spoke gently. “You must tell me what you want. I don’t want to do anything you don’t want to do.”

It made Loki angry, something he very rarely was. He was sad, frightened, hurt all the time, but almost never angry. It was too dangerous an emotion to ever let it start. But now he finally let it rise as he thought of how he had been so robbed of the ability to do what he wanted.

“But I do want to, Thor,” he said bitterly. “I _want_  to do everything you want to, and I _can’t_ , because of him. And as long as he’s stopping me doing what I want, I’m still not free.”

Thor’s hand tightened on his. “Then we’ll take it back,” he promised. “Everything he took from you, we will take it back.”

Thor dragged his bedding next to Loki's, and they went to sleep still holding hands. Thor wanted, more than anything, to take Loki in his arms and hold him and protect him, but he couldn’t protect Loki from his own demons. He could help fight them, though, and he would. Loki had turned him from a slave into a free man, one who had position and respect. He realized with a start how hard it must be for Loki to speak with him in Latin, and resolved to spend every spare moment perfecting his Pritani.

He waited until Loki was soundly asleep before he let his tears fall.


	25. Learning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Together, they begin to learn what works best. They also learn that the celebration of the spring equinox is even better with someone special.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

Loki had managed to fall asleep only through sheer exhaustion, and he woke in the dead of night, tension humming through his body and a cruel fist squeezing inside his chest, making it nearly impossible to breathe. It was a familiar enough sensation.

He lay quietly, waiting for dawn. Finally the earliest light began to peek in, and he could watch Thor's sleeping face. He knew the way he felt now was from the memory of their talk last night, when he had _told_. He tried to pretend it was a nightmare, and that they had fallen asleep together after kissing, but as the room grew light, he could see the salty trail that ran downwards from Thor's eyes. They made it at once worse and better. He couldn't pretend it hadn't happened, not with the evidence dried on Thor's cheeks (his own dried tears were too common an occurrence to mean anything, themselves). But... he had wept for Loki. That meant he cared, which meant not being alone anymore. That came with its own set of fears, but he wasn't alone. Thor said they would do this together.

Thor slowly opened warm eyes, smiling when he saw Loki looking at him. "Good morning," he said.

It took Loki a moment to realize what he'd said, and his eyes widened without answering.

"I'm not going to speak Latin anymore. Not unless I need to ask a word. You've been so kind, letting me hold on to something familiar. I didn't know how it must have hurt you."

"It wasn't so bad. Not with you. But I do prefer this," he answered.

"Then this is what it will be, from now on."

The queasy hand gripping Loki's stomach began to relax its hold. His hand crept out, searching for Thor's. When they touched, Thor took it gently into his own, holding it just enough to feel secure, but loosely enough that Loki could easily pull free.

And that was how Thor continued to touch him in the following weeks, making sure that Loki felt safe as they held hands, or when Loki took Thor's elbow. Thor didn't kiss him again until a few days later when Loki initiated it. It was the night of Imbolg, and the rituals had, as always, made Loki feel stronger. It helped, too, that Thor moved slowly, signaling to Loki exactly what was coming and giving him time to decide it felt safe. And when something didn't, he never pressed, just returned easily to what he had done before. Thor liked to talk to him between kisses, too, his low voice murmuring words of reassurance, urging Loki to answer, showing that he hadn't gone away.

They quickly found that it was better if they kept their eyes open. Thor's warm blue eyes, so different from Cassian's brown ones, helped Loki stay grounded and present. The way they crinkled at the corners from kind smiles Loki couldn't always see helped even more, though he didn't realize it.

Thor slowly began to touch him more. Never anything grasping or tight, but he would cup Loki's cheek gently as they kissed, or run his hand lightly over Loki's chest as they lay in their beds next to each other, low voices recounting their days to each other. With each new touch, Loki would have a spasm of fear. But nearly all were eased away by Thor's quiet, even voice. And as the days turned into weeks, he could feel his heart blossoming with the spring, bursting joyously open like the buds of the bluebells that suddenly carpeted the forest around them.

It was, strangely enough, more difficult for Thor to bear than it was for Loki. Each time Thor felt Loki stiffen under his hands, he had a surge of anger, a near-overwhelming desire to track down the monster who had done this and tear him limb from limb. And each time he fought it down, letting it fuel his determination to do what he could, here, now. He also brought it to his work, hammering with ever-increasing strength. "Easy there," Engus finally said, when he had hammered completely through a sheet of bronze. "Whatever happened, I'm sure it's not the fault of the metal." 

Thor sighed. "I'm sorry. I'll rework it."

"You know," Engus told him, "druids can give good counsel. Whatever troubles you, you might try sharing it with your friend."

He had no idea how to broach the topic, though. He could hardly tell someone who had been subject to such violence that the way he responded made Thor feel violent, as well. But when he found himself having to rework the same piece of metal for the third time, he decided that he would have to find a way.

Elben Aile, when the day and night were equal, came quickly, the subject of celebration. "Happy Elb'aile, Thor," Loki said, sinking to his knees next to the bed where Thor was just waking. He was already dressed in his finest clothing, his proud iron torc heavy around his neck and massive bronze cuffs shining on his wrists. It was strange, now, to see him without the pendant Thor had given him for Yule; he had taken to wearing it daily when he did not need his ceremonial garb. But he looked magnificent as he smiled down and held out his hand, putting something smooth into Thor's.

He looked. It was an egg, stained the same red that Loki liked him to wear.

It bore a trace of memory. "We did this as well," he said slowly. "For Ostara. We gave eggs."

"I don't know _Ostara_ , but eggs are the best gift for the equinox," Loki told him, the unfamiliar word awkward on his tongue.

"But I have no egg for you," he said.

Loki patted his hand. "It's just dawn," he said. "You've got all day. I must go now, but no one will expect you to work today. Sleep more if you like. The celebrations will continue until nightfall, you won't miss anything. And when you get up, take the basket with you." He set a basket next to Thor's head as he stood.

Thor peeked inside, to find it brimming with green-dyed eggs. "There are no more red ones," he said.

"No. I wanted one that was just for you," Loki smiled.

He left the roundhouse, and Thor did sleep, then, after setting his egg carefully among the folds of Loki's bed, where it would be safe until he got up to put it on a shelf. The next thing that woke him was the sound of revelry outside, people singing and laughing as they walked the path to the hill-fort. Of course, the ceremonies would be held on top of the hill, nearest the sun. He rose and dressed, quickly joining the stream of people outside.

The plain, twice-over a battlefield in Thor's memory, had become a place of joy. Near the base of the hill, people gathered, listening to Loki and his students as the celebrated the rituals. At a respectful distance away, some bards were playing and singing, and there were people dancing all around. Further yet, the children shouted and ran in their games. Thor joined the crowd by the hill, feeling a surge of pride and admiration as he looked up. Loki never looked so beautiful as when he was happy.

He watched nearly all day, drinking in the sounds of the slightly archaic language used for these rites, and he realized again how close it sounded to song. That was the first thing that had struck him about their speech, when he was a prisoner, but he had become so accustomed that he had stopped noticing. He would not forget again.

Loki loved all the festivals, the cycle of the year that repeated eternally even as it moved ever forward, a wheel on a chariot that never faltered as the gods rode out the eons, and he was proud to help celebrate them. But this festival was one of his favorites. He still thought fondly of the first year he was deemed old enough to help Alaca color the eggs, and the pride with which he passed them out to his friends. And now, as he chanted the rituals, he watched as Thor stood below, handing out eggs to those same friends.

Thor still carried scars on both body and soul from his life with the Romans, but as time passed, he seemed to remember more and more of his early life with his own people. It pleased Loki, seeing Thor growing closer to the man he might have become had he been free all his life. It also pleased him to learn how many parts of their cultures were similar. It made him feel close, like they might have been lifelong friends had they had the chance. He watched fondly as Thor nodded his respect before leaving to walk towards the roughly hewn food tables.

The benches were crowded for the midday meal, but Oria waved a hand and scooted over to make room for Thor to wiggle in, resting the basket of eggs on his lap and offering one to her with a flourish.

"Thank you," she said happily, offering him one that was dyed a deep blue.

"This is beautiful," he said. "Have you any more like this? I wanted to give one to Loki that is not like our others."

"I'll trade you, I need one to give Faelan. Green's his favorite."

"So what do you think of Elb'aile?" she asked, taking another bite from her huge pile of fresh greens, so welcome after the long winter's dried foods.

"I like it very much," he said. "It reminds me a little of when I was a child."

"Really? That's fascinating. What do you remember of it?"

"Not much beyond the giving of eggs, to be honest. But I remember that I liked it."

She nodded. "It is a good day. One of my favorites, as well."

They chatted through the rest of the meal before wandering back to the plain. By dusk, when Loki set down his torc, Thor's basket was emptied of green eggs and full of others.  
Thor climbed the hill towards Loki, at the front of the stream of people moving towards the great hall for the evening feast. He smiled with surprised pleasure as Loki took his hand and held it as they walked. "I liked these ceremonies very much, though I did not understand all the words," he said.

"I will explain them to you later, if you would like," Loki offered.

"I would, very much."

Loki drank nearly as much as he did at Yule, and in the middle of his fifth cup of beer he climbed into Thor's lap and draped himself over the strong torso. "Is this all right?" he asked. "I like to be close to you. I've had such a nice day, and this makes it perfect."

"Of course it's all right. And yes, it does. It does make everything perfect." Thor wrapped his arm around Loki's waist to keep him upright and pressed a light kiss onto the gleaming black hair. Loki rested his head on Thor's shoulder and they spent a perfect evening with their friends.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	26. Things That Are Entirely New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Happy Elb'Aile" has never been so true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things happen in this chapter while Loki is in a state that we now consider to make someone unable to give consent. Thor isn't entirely sure how to handle it, but he *is* trying to do what is right, and nothing happens that Loki doesn't want. Anyway, I wanted to give a heads up to that because while it's tons better than what happened to Loki in Gergovia, non/dub con is a lot worse when it's one of the good guys doing it.

  
On the way back to the roundhouse, Loki kept stopping for kisses and refusing to move until he was satisfied. By the end of their walk they'd made a game of it, Loki laughing playfully when Thor would dodge his lips a moment before swooping in to meet them.

And when they got home, Loki was as forward as Thor had ever known him. He was also very drunk, though, and Thor was unsure how much it was right to allow. He didn't want to feel that he was taking advantage of Loki's state, but he also knew the things that Loki wanted them to be able to do together. In the end, he settled for not stopping things, but not initiating anything they had not done before, either.

Loki sank to their bedding piles as Thor built up the fire to warm the house for the night, staring at Thor from beneath his heavy lashes and twirling his curls around one finger.

"Are you flirting with me?" Thor asked teasingly.

"I am," Loki purred. "Come down here."

Thor sank quickly to his own bedding, by now piled up right next to Loki's. Again, as in the great hall, Loki climbed onto him, sprawling completely atop him. The easy shift of Loki's weight pressing him down into the thick pile of furs was dizzying; Thor had not had pleasure from other than his own hand in years, and this was the closest contact he had had with anyone since his last visit to a meretrix. He tried to will his erection away, worried that it might be too much and become upsetting, even as Loki lazily rubbed his own against Thor. His attempt was an utter failure, but Loki didn't seem to mind. He ground them together as he claimed Thor's lips, over and over, murmuring half-breathed words.

Loki instantly loved lying atop Thor like this; the contact, warm and close, was both secure and arousing. His breath sped up as he moved his hips slowly, enjoying the feel of Thor's hard length pressed against his own, only the thick fabric of their clothes to separate them. And he had been so separate, for so long. When Thor brought his hands up to stroke gently down Loki's sides - careful never to reach around, never to trap him - the touch sent pleasure rippling through his body.

Thor froze as Loki shivered at his touch. _Too much,_  he thought. _I've ruined it._

"No, don’t stop. I like that," Loki said. "Is it too cold to do without these?" he continued, plucking lightly at Thor's shirt.

"I don't think so. I'll keep you warm," Thor said.

Loki sat up to tug ineffectually at his own, while Thor slid out of his easily. He reached up to help, as Loki had somehow managed to get tangled in the fabric, but he shied away. So Thor let him battle his own way out, glad that Loki was still aware of his limits, temporarily broadened though they might be. It made him more confident that Loki wouldn't hate him in the morning.

By the time he managed to get it off, Loki was laughing at himself, and Thor was chuckling along with him. But the laughter faded as they took in the sight of each other, so very near. They'd been casually naked around each other, of course - sleeping nude all through the hot summer, swimming, changing clothes - but this was different, charged like the air in a summer storm. It made Loki's heart race. He brought a tentative hand to Thor's chest, taking in the massive muscles and the blond hair that glistened upon them, and the heat of his skin despite the chill of the room.

Thor arched up into it, his body crying out for contact after long neglect. And Thor realized that wasn't all; perhaps it was the least of it. The feel of Loki's hands against him was a revelation. To be touched this way by someone he cared for, and who cared for him, was an entirely new experience. He hoped desperately that it wasn't just Loki's drunkenness allowing him to do this, that they could continue on. He didn't care how long they waited for sex - he was well accustomed to tending those needs privately - but now that he'd had this, he didn't think he could go without.

Loki watched the surge of emotions washing over Thor's face, fading from shock, to something almost like pain, and then to glowing, open joy. With a tremulous smile, he brought Thor's hands to his own chest, holding them gently as he ran them down his skin. Thor's eyes looked wondrous as he slid up and down the lithe torso. When one finger lightly brushed a nipple, though, Loki moved him away slightly. "Not there? Not yet," he asked. Thor nodded, glad to guided in what exactly was most welcome for him to do.

Thor forgot how to breathe as Loki eased back down upon him, dropping playfully demanding kisses all over his face and continuing to rub them together. Loki began to moan lightly as his kisses grew slower and longer, moving down until he was mouthing at Thor's throat. Thor stroked down his sides, memorizing the long, lean muscles that rippled as he moved. Between the feel of Loki's cool skin beneath his hands and his hot mouth on his neck, and the rutting, harder now, he was rapidly growing close.

"Loki, I'm-" he gasped.

"No, please," Loki panted, striking a new cinder of worry in Thor, before he pleaded, "wait for me?"

Loki had never, never had this before, the chance to _stay_ in his body and take pleasure in it. It was strange and peculiar - and very, very good, he thought - and the only thing that could make it more perfect would be to share the moment with Thor.

Thor nodded and gritted his teeth, trying to drag his mind somewhere far away from their bed even as his body continued to be urged on towards his peak. It was useless; every searing wet lick, every grind down against him, every heady moan wound him tighter, and he wasn't going to be able to stop himself- until just in time he felt Loki stiffen and gasp, "yes, yes... _now_ , Thor," and he let go, let that screaming pleasure explode outward, his body bucking upward as Loki's slammed down to meet it, both of them crying out before Loki collapsed on top of him.

Once it was over, Thor wanted, more than anything, to wrap his arms around Loki and pull him close. And he knew he couldn't. _One day,_ he promised himself. It wasn't long before the wetness began to chill. "Perhaps we should clean up a bit," Thor suggested gently. When Loki didn't answer, Thor twisted his head around to see his face, and smiled. Loki's boneless collapse had shifted fluidly into sleep. Thor was loathe to wake him, but the thought of their clothes in the morning made him determined. 

"Loki?" He shook the slender shoulder gently.

"Hmm? Oh, Thor. Hello," Loki said, lifting his head momentarily before sinking it back down to rest against Thor's shoulder.

"Loki, we need to clean ourselves," he said. He was met with an incoherently mumbled response.

In the end, Thor had to roll Loki off and bring him a damp cloth and clean trousers before he could get him to do anything. Loki got as far as undressing and washing before falling back to sleep. _Good enough_ , Thor decided, throwing an extra fur over him, before taking care of himself. 

Loki was in miserable shape in the morning, waking in the middle of a moan and throwing his arm over his eyes to block the sunlight. With considerable wheedling, Thor managed to coax him to drink some water and eat a little porridge, and then stroked his hair until he fell back asleep. When he woke, Thor's hand had stilled, but he was still there, watching over him. And he did feel much better. Not entirely, but not deathly, either. "Good morning, again," he mumbled.

"Good afternoon," Thor smiled back.

"Oh, no. Really?" he asked with a groan.

"Really. Don't worry. You needed it."

"Mmpfh. I suppose I did. Remind me why I drank so much?"

"Because it relaxes you, and you like that?"

He sighed. "Yes, that's it." It did serve to quiet his hypervigilance, and he needed that sometimes. He just wished he didn't feel so dreadful the next day.

"Loki?" Thor began tentatively. Loki cocked an eyebrow. "Do you remember last night?"

He thought. It was a little blurry in some parts, but  he remembered enough to smile fondly.  " Yes, I do. What about it?"

"I just wanted to make sure it was all right. That I didn't do anything I shouldn't have."

Loki put his hand to Thor's cheek. "No. Everything was just right."

Thor smiled. "I'm glad. I thought it was wonderful."

"Me, too."

Thor was even more hesitant to raise his worries after that night. They had come so far, so suddenly, it seemed like a terrible idea to risk anything. The next evening, though, he changed his mind again. It happened when they were laying together, Loki again draped over Thor, before they had even begun to undress. Thor brought his hands up to rest gently on Loki's waist - something that had drawn forth nothing but breathy sounds of encouragement on the night of the equinox - and Loki froze with wide, frightened eyes. He let go, and resolved to speak the next day.

He brought it up just as they entered their roundhouse after the evening meal, as Loki stood at his shelves, taking off his ornaments.

"Loki, there is something that has weighed on me for some time now, and Engus told me that one of your tasks is to give sound advice."

"It is," he agreed, curious.

"It's about... us, and I'm not entirely sure how to begin."

"Well, when someone has trouble speaking about themselves, it is often easier to speak of a 'friend.' Lugha told me that, and I have found it to be true." Loki smiled and took his chair, patting Thor's, beckoning him to sit.

"A friend."

"Yes. So, tell me, what is the problem your friend is facing? I hope he knows I will help as much as I am able."

"All right." Thor took a deep breath, sank into his chair, and began. "My... friend has someone he cares for very much, and this person has been treated cruelly in the past. And now, when they are together, sometimes the dear one grows fearful, and it makes my friend angry at the person who did it to them. But he is afraid to show his urge to violence, to let it be seen by the one who has already faced so much. And he doesn't know what to do."

Loki looked thoughtful. "I suspect that if this person understood your friend's feelings, he would not be overly troubled by them. He might even welcome them, as a sign that your friend won't let anyone hurt him ever again."

"Really?" Thor was a little suspicious. The answer seemed too convenient, too easy.

"Yes, really," Loki reassured him. "He might be startled by the anger at first, but if he cares for your friend, which I suspect he does, very much, he would not want your friend to feel he had to hide his feelings. And it really will help him feel safe."

That night, as they curled against each other, bared to the waist and caressing gently, Thor's thumb accidentally caught a nipple, and Loki jerked away with a sharp gasp, breaking instantly into a cold sweat. Thor's eyes narrowed, and he growled in Loki's ear. "If anyone so much as _thinks_ of touching you in unkindness ever again, I will _tear their still-beating heart out_."

Loki tensed for a moment at the ferocity of Thor's tone, but then he relaxed back into his furs. "I know," he whispered, pulling Thor towards him to hold him close.

 

 

 

 


	27. Offerings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Thor offers the weighty metal pieces at the sacred well, he is unburdened of more than their heft.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another long one, there wasn't a good place for a break. Enjoy!

They had to draw back slightly from all they had done the night of Elben Aile, but not completely. And Loki didn't hate Thor for any of it; in fact, he seemed happy at all the new things he had been able to do so easily (and, yes, he was particularly happy about one thing in particular, but that was only natural, he thought), even if he wasn't ready to try them again right away.

The ewes had been giving milk since just before Imbolg, their bodies preparing for lambing before the lambs actually came, and their rich, heavy milk was dizzyingly delicious after a winter of nothing but water and beer, livened with the occasional small cup of mead. Seeing how much Loki loved it, Thor took to taking just a few sips of his own daily cup before insisting that Loki finish it.

"You must like it, Thor," he had argued.

But Thor insisted in the one way that he knew would be convincing. "I do enjoy it," he agreed, "but I enjoy watching you even more."

The extra fat went straight to Loki's body, and Thor loved to see it fill out after the lean winter. His cheeks lost their sunkenness, and his eyes lost the hollow look that made Thor worry. He radiated health and happiness. His hope of getting better had become a promise, and there was nothing better in the world. He wasn't there yet, but he would be. And for now, that was enough for both of them.

****  
Thor was working harder than ever; Bealtain was drawing near, when the cattle would be driven to the summer pastures, and the men were busy inspecting the fences and bringing back pieces to be repaired. It was a new skill, almost entirely different from the working of raw metal beyond the need for the forge and the incessant ringing of his hammer. He had almost forgotten quite how loud it was: after he had been properly trained, he had copied Engus in plugging his ears with beeswax to dull the sound. But now they worked with open ears again, for Engus to explain how to coax broken or weakened metal back to a strong solid again.

And Loki had a request, as well: could Thor make him a torc of hollow iron? The one he had worked well enough for most rituals, but Bealtain was filled with processions, and it grew tiring to spend the day walking with its heavy weight on his neck. Thor spent hours on it, working into the evenings after he had finished his repair work for the day, sometimes hammering until the mothers begged him to be quiet, the children needed to sleep. And he could not remember when he had last been so proud as the day he presented it to Loki, the metal gleaming dully where it curled down, the ends ornamented in careful whorls, but the whole thing weighing perhaps half of the one to which he was accustomed.

No. He did remember when he had been this proud. It was when he had been congratulated on his thoughts for punishing the thieving slave, who had not, after all, been a thief. The memory hit him like his own hammer, right into his stomach, and he fought to hide his sudden sickness from Loki, who stood before him, smiling in pleasure.

Loki noticed, but pretended to see nothing. He did not think his questions would be welcomed while they were among others. But that night, before they fell asleep, he slipped his hand into Thor's, and whispered to him. "What troubles you about my torc?"

Thor's heart sank. The last thing he wanted was to burden Loki with his own problems, but nor did he want to lie. "I felt so proud, when I saw your pleasure in it," he answered, "and it reminded me of another time. I had done something... horrible. Unforgivable, and.I _bathed_ in the praise it earned me."

Loki squeezed his hand. "Can you tell me?" he asked gently.

Thor considered it before shaking his head. "I don't think so. I don't mean to withhold myself from you, but I don't think I can bring myself to put it into words."

"This was a crime against another?"

Thor shuddered in the darkness. "It was. A slave like me. He died, horribly, because of me."

"I wish I could give you absolution, but I cannot. But if you forge an offering, I will take you to a sacred well to pray to the gods to grant special kindnesses to his soul. Tell Engus that you wish to make offerings to Daghda and Brigh, and he will help you design something that will be pleasing. The most important thing, though, is that it is made and offered with an honest heart."

"Thank you. I would like that, very much."

Loki pressed a kiss to his temple. "I like to help you. Just as you like to see me grow fat."

And for the first time, they fell asleep close together, Loki's arm across Thor's chest. It felt protective.

*****

Bealtain came, and with it the sacred bonfire that lasted all day and into the night. Loki carried the heavy torch, lit from the tall fire, as he walked through the village, stopping in each doorway to let the smoke fill every roundhouse. He circled the hill-fort and visited each building within it, before making the long trek around both the summer and winter pastures. He had worked almost without cease, pausing only to eat quickly or tend to his needs, and it was still well after dusk when he was done. The hollow torc had made the day seem to fly by, compared to earlier years. His neck and shoulders still ached with exhaustion, but usually he was in agony by this time.

The entire village sat around the bonfire, talking and laughing late into the night. Thor noticed, with no little curiosity, that Loki did not drink as he usually did on festival nights. They left as the fire grew low, Loki's older students dedicated to tending it until it burned out.

Walking back to the roundhouse, the entire village still smelled like the torch smoke, with its sweet wood resins that had been soaked into the burning fabric. It granted safety to the land Loki had circled, to the homes he had visited, the fragrance drawing the gods down to be close to them.

"You did not have so much beer as after most festivals," Thor said as the door closed behind them.

"No, I didn't." Loki smiled.

Thor's eyes widened in surprise as Loki lifted off their shirts, and pulled him down to their bedding. And then they closed in pleasure as Loki settled himself atop him and almost immediately began to rub them gently together. Loki was already hard, and Thor matched him almost instantly. "I don't want to need beer to do this," he whispered. The sweet smoke was heavy in the air here, and it felt like a warm blanket over them, offering care and protection. Nothing could hurt him tonight, while the gods walked along the paths through the village.

He rested more of his weight onto Thor, freeing a hand to slide down between them, his fingers wrapping around Thor's length through the thin fabric of his trousers. "Oh, Loki," Thor breathed. The heat of it was gloriously alive, as though it had absorbed the sacred bonfire itself. Loki moved again, tugging at Thor's cord belt and reaching inside. Thor cried out, arching up against him as his fist closed around his cock and began to move.

Loki remembered exactly what to do, and even that did not bother him, not tonight. He was safe, and happy, and he wanted to make Thor happy too. So when Thor panted, "Loki... I can not bear this long, and I would share it with you," he stopped long enough to draw away the rest of their clothes before lowering himself once again, keeping his hips slightly higher to take both their cocks as much into his hand as he could.

Loki's fingers felt so soft against his skin, a reminder that his hands were dedicated to mysteries rather than labor, and it was endlessly exciting as Loki worked them closer to another, private, mystery. Thor brought his hand up to stroke against the side where Loki's fingers could not close, and they moved in unison, drawing each other ever higher, smiles intermingling with murmurs of praise.

Thor came first, his body tense and arched, his free hand fisting into the pile of furs. He took Loki's cock in his hand as soon as he could move, working intently, pulling Loki after him into that cloud of bliss that saturated the air about them. Thor's hand fit so perfectly around him, and Loki felt the tension coiling up in his belly and he vaguely wondered how _this_ could have anything in common with the tension that usually filled him, but then he couldn't think, could only feel, as it snapped free and he came with a shout, hips driving down hard against Thor's.

When it was finished and Loki had collapsed with a faint moan next to Thor, Thor cleaned them off with his shirt, lying still puddled next to them. He would have washed them, as well, but walking seemed notably unlikely.

As before, Loki was not ready to repeat their more ambitious activities right away. That was fine; neither one had expected anything else, and for each step back they kept making two steps forward.

One evening, Thor came home carrying two pieces of metalwork for Loki's approval. There was a massive iron cuff for Daghda, its entire surface covered in whirls that spiralled together in a dizzying repeat. For Brigh, he had made a hand mirror of bronze, one side polished to a high sheen and the back decorated in smaller, more restrained patterns. He had embedded three stones in it.

"Do you think she will mind that they are common stones from the river? They are clear and even, and I thought they suited this pattern, but I do not wish to be insulting," he told Loki.

Loki patted his arm reassuringly. "Remember what I told you was the most important thing in making them? You chose these stones for their beauty. She does not expect a smith to make a kingly offering."

Thor smiled. "When can we go to the well?"

"If we leave in the morning, we can be there the following day."

"I would like that."

But the next morning, Loki did not lead them to the well right away. Instead, they went to the hill-fort and stood atop it, looking down upon the plain. "Do you know what today is?" he asked Thor.

Thor frowned in thought. "Twelve days after Bealtain. Is it something else as well?"

"It was a year ago today that I first saw you. Right there," he pointed. "You were beautiful and deadly, and I knew at once that you didn't belong there with the Romans. I have my own offering to make at the well, to give my thanks for you being brought here to me."

They looked at the plain, each of them remembering how the other had first appeared before them, and then Loki took Thor's hand and led him northwest, through the woods to the well. As with the walk back to Taexali lands from the Roman camp, Loki knew where to find secreted packs of food and bedding along their way, and the forest was ripe with fruit, so they had little to carry beyond skins for water and the sacrifices.

The evening was chilly, and they slept more closely together than was their habit. Loki curled up behind Thor, one arm around him, at once keeping them warm and ensuring that he wouldn't find himself trapped and panicking under Thor's heavier arm.

They reached the well at about midday. The trees about it had scraps of cloth hanging from them, and Thor looked around, curious. "The Caledones also hold this well sacred, and in times of peace they are allowed onto our lands to pray here. Some of them believe they must hang a garment in the tree next to the well, and their prayers will be answered when it has fallen into decay."

"Do we ever do this?" Thor asked.

Loki smiled inwardly to hear him call the Taexali _we_. It was still new and welcome. "No. The gods are not so unkind as to make us wait like this."

"But prayers are not always answered, surely, and certainly not immediately."

"They are not. But nor are we so arrogant as to assume that our prayers are ever more than humble requests. These rotting rags smack of demands."

"Then our offerings...?"

"Well, mine is of thanks, so I am reasonably sure it will be accepted. And yours... I cannot promise, but your sacrifice is made honestly, and it is not selfish. Unless your only concern is making yourself feel better?" Loki looked at him a little sharply.

"I do hope to feel better," Thor admitted, "but my main care is not for myself."

"Then I do not think you need worry." Loki squeezed his arm. "Would you like to go first?"

"I'm not sure what to do. I'd like to watch you, if I may."

So Loki approached the well, his steps even and reverent. He stood next to it for a moment, murmuring a prayer, before tossing in his offering. He had worked on it secretly for months, turning the wood, carving so carefully, polishing it with sandstone and then his thumbs til it shone. It was a rough figure; he was no artist, but this crudely shaped statue of a man bulging with muscles had been made with gratitude, more than he had ever thought he would be able to feel.

Thor watched in silence. When Loki returned and stood next to him, he began to walk forward. "Daghda first," Loki told him. He nodded.

He did not know the prayers as Loki did, but since he had not been instructed in what to say, he trusted that he needed but to be honest. So first he prayed to the Lord of the Dead, that the slave - Thor didn't even know his name, but he summoned a picture of the man's face into his mind - be given peace and happiness. When he let go of the heavy iron and watched it sink into the water, he felt much lighter than just the weight of the metal would explain. And again with the Lady, he prayed for her care and kindness in watching over the man. As the mirror sank into the water, it spun over and caught the sun, giving a last flash of brilliance before it was lost to the deep. "Thank you," he whispered. 

It was with joyous hearts that they walked back to the village, Thor grateful for the chance to do something for the slave, Loki grateful for Thor. With their packs so light now they made good time, and the second day they stopped to swim in the river before returning home. They dove into the clear water, tumbling and jumping. Loki wasn't quite ready for Thor to hold him, but he wrapped his arms easily around the broad shoulders, laughing as Thor suddenly shot up from the water and tossed Loki free into the air.

"Let's do this every day, all summer. After we finish our work, let's meet here," Loki said. He had missed so much fun as a child, and as he grew freer in spirit, he found himself eager for the years of lost play.

Thor was only too happy to help.


	28. Shedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another fear is cast off, as is another lie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

They did, indeed, spend nearly every summer evening in the river. Loki was silver and agile as a minnow as he swam, his slender figure cutting through the water more deftly than Thor's bulk. Being freed from gravity, able to move with near-equal ease in any direction, made him feel both secure and free. The few evenings they did not go, because one of them was busy, they spent extra time the next day, leaving their tasks in the late afternoon to meet on the river path. Like the day after Midsummer; Loki had presided over the rituals late into the night, and they needed to make up the lost time.

"Guess where I'm going next?" Loki told Thor, his eyes bright with laughter as he took a gulp of air and disappeared beneath the surface. Thor scanned the shore, watching for a pale figure to climb up onto the rocky outcrop over the deep part of the river, where it was safe to dive. What he was not expecting, but what happened, was to hear the water break just behind him and Loki's arms to wrap about his chest.

"Got you," he whispered into Thor's ear, planting a swift peck on his shoulder before letting go and sinking back down.

Thor treaded water, waiting to see where Loki would appear next. He smiled when Loki popped up right in front of him, water streaming down his face as he moved in for a kiss. They were alone in the water, for once, and Loki's arms wrapped around Thor as he deepened it, tongue coaxing at Loki's lips. Thor felt the first stirrings of arousal twining their way around his cock and he gave a soft sound of pleasure. It gave way to pleased surprise when Loki grasped his treading hands and pulled them loosely around his back. Thor had to work his legs hard to keep himself upright; his muscles did not float so easily, but he was not willing to let go. Not when Loki was, for this first and precious time, wanting to be _held_. He wanted to squeeze tight and never let go, but he restrained the impulse. That would come, and Thor knew from experience that it would come all the sooner if this first attempt went peacefully, with nothing to startle Loki into sudden alarm.

Loki felt his heart racing but fought to keep the tension out of his body. It wasn't that he was trying to hide anything from Thor, but he had come to realize that when he managed to keep his body relaxed, it helped him keep control of his mind, as well. So he floated and enjoyed Thor's embrace as best he could, until his pulse began to thud in his veins. He gave Thor another quick kiss and pointed his toes, letting himself slide quickly into the deep of the river before swimming up next to Thor.

Thor smiled at him when he surfaced. "I liked that," he said gently. "I would like to do it again, when you are ready."

He was growing skilled at telling Loki what he wanted in a manner that was open and honest without any trace of pushing. And Loki liked it that he didn't hold back from sharing his own feelings and desires, even when he knew it would be some time before they were acted on. But today, this desire would not have long to wait. They bobbed downstream next to each other until Loki felt his body ease back into peace. With another smile and breath, he dove again, and again resurfaced in Thor's arms.

They played at this over and over, each time lasting a little longer than the one before. And finally, Loki moved forward to rest his head on Thor's shoulder and he whispered to him. "Tighter."

Thor closed his arms around Loki's back, pulling him close. He felt Loki's body freeze in his arms, but he made no move to leave, so Thor continued to hold him tight, one hand stroking gently down his back, murmuring to him softly until he felt the tension bleed away into the water. Thor closed his eyes and pressed his lips against the dripping black hair. "I've wanted this so long," he whispered.

"Don't let go," Loki whispered back.

"Never."

*****

It was a good thing that they had gotten to the river so early that day, they realized, as they finally looked around to see how far they had floated downstream. They hauled out of the water, a little sad to let go but glad in the knowledge that it was only the first of what would be countless embraces. They held hands as they walked along the silty shore back to their clothes.

Loki had been waiting for the right moment for some time now. He hadn't wanted to speak too soon, but Thor deserved to know what he meant, and this timing was suddenly perfect. He rubbed his thumb along the back of Thor's. "I love you," he said.

Thor stopped dead in his tracks, almost knocking Loki as he still held onto his hand. "Loki," he said. He stared at him in wonder before bringing his hand up to cup the dear, dear face in his hand, as soft and delicate as a flower petal. "I love you too."

Once it was said, neither could seem to stop repeating it, and their speed dropped in half as they kept stopping to say it over and over in rapturous voices, half-crying in their shared happiness.

They had always walked single file on the path home, finding it not quite wide enough to go side-by-side. It turned out to be just big enough if they walked with their arms wrapped around each other's waists.

*****

Thor worked extra hard making new figures for Luganasa, and by the festivities that evening, while Loki chatted with their friends, he was content to sit tiredly and trace the lines of Loki's arm tattoos with his finger.

"When do you think I will get more?" he asked a little shyly when they returned home.

Loki smiled. "I will talk to Deglan tomorrow for permission. I don't think there will be any problem."

It turned out to be better than simply _no problem_.

"Yes, of course!" Deglan said in answer to Loki's question. "I did not mean to allow him only one. I meant it to be simply the first. Was he waiting my permission?"

At Loki's acknowledgement, he shook his head. "Do take him my apologies, and tell Laudoc that Thor is to have priority for his time when he wishes another."

Loki nodded his thanks.

"Have you time to sit and talk with me?" Deglan asked. "I've begun to think of remarriage, and I want your thoughts."

"I would be happy to," Loki said, taking one of a bench. "Auricca was a great loss, but I know she would wish you to find happiness again."

"She was a wonderful woman," Deglan agreed. "And... I think Oria is another."

Loki absolutely beamed at the thought of his friend being made queen. "One of the best," he said. "Are you sure she'll have you?"

Deglan laughed. "I hope so." For the good of the tribe, he was glad of Thor's presence because of his skill at smithing and his prowess in battle. But he had his personal reasons as well. Loki was one of the very few members of the tribe of a rank high enough that Deglan could be on terms of friendship with him, and it was a joy to see his friend growing happier almost by the day.

*****

Laudoc sent word that he was ready anytime Thor knew what he wanted, and it was only a matter of days before Thor showed up, his design sketched on a bit of worn cloth. The matching tattoos covered more area than the tree on his back, but they were largely outlines, and they went quickly. By the time Loki got home Thor was there waiting for him.

"Shields," Loki said, looking at them. "They're beautiful."

They were; the paired designs were rich with swirls and spirals that covered his upper arms, curving around the massive swells of muscles and up onto his shoulders. There was a patch on his right arm that Laudoc had left bare, bringing special attention to one of his scars from the bear attack.

"So that all may see my strength and know it is for the protection of those I care for," Thor told him.

Loki smiled fondly.

Thor was under strict orders to stay out of the river for a week, but he didn't mind. Watching Loki enjoy the late summer water was enough.

*****

It was not long before Mabone, the first time Thor took Loki into his mouth. He was hesitant, apprehensive. This was a thing, he had been raised to believe, that was so low it could not even be requested of a meretrix; it was reserved strictly for slaves and the lower orders of prostitutes. The legion had bantered with slurs about each other's willingness to do this, and bloody fights had broken out over the words. Yet to be such a topic of such conversation, there had to be something to it, and Thor was resolved to try. And he quickly decided that there was nothing but happiness to be found in giving Loki pleasure in this manner. It was yet one more lie of Rome, to pervert an act of caring and mutuality into one of violence and degradation.

They had just returned from a swim in the river, where Loki had been as graceful and playful as an otter, and his beauty had taken Thor's breath away. His skin still tasted like the fresh cold water, with its hints of gray slate and new green life, as Thor lowered his tongue and Loki arched his back in pleasure.

The next day, he began to forge another offering, this time one of thanksgiving.


	29. Good Matches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deglan and Oria get married in the fall. This winter is more bitter than the last, but even that is not so bad with a loved one held close. And spring... ah, spring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

The bite in the air was growing by the day, but the late afternoon sun was warm on their skin as they stretched on the rock overhanging the water, watching their reflections below. It was too cold most days to swim, now, but they still found it peaceful simply to be here together, near the place they had first spoken their love.

"We suit," Loki said, leaning over to bump Thor's shoulder with his own.

"We do," Thor agreed.

"Night and day. Both better together than either one could be alone."

Shamnain was approaching, and after the way it had troubled Thor the year before, Loki was eager to show him its solemn beauty.

Thor looked at him wryly. "I know what you're doing, you know," he said.

"You do? Is it working?"

Thor chuckled. "Perhaps."

*****

Before Shamnain, though, there was the wedding. Deglan and Oria had planned to wait for Imbolg, to have the special favor of Brigh on her feast day, but when Oria's courses stopped, they decided not to wait. Thor had been to several Taexali marriages, of course, but this was by far the grandest. It was time, again, to remove the beeswax from his ears and learn as Deglan gave them a piece of gold to forge into a circlet for his bride. Working the soft metal - such a tiny piece compared to what he was used to - was yet another new skill, and Thor found himself grateful that the wedding was sooner rather than later. Engus was growing tired; he seemed much older than he had just that spring. Thor wanted to learn everything he might need to know, so that Engus would be able to leave his work in Thor's knowledgeable hands whenever he felt the need.

Loki was glad that he was not expected to behave solemnly while officiating the marriage ceremony; it would have been nearly impossible to keep the smile off his face at the sight of two of his closest friends, good people with warm and kind hearts, joining together. It was celebrated at dawn, and the pink tint of the sky matched the roses in Oria's cheeks as she blushed in happiness. The thin band of cloth that Loki wrapped around their wrists was a light spring green for their new life together.

When it was finished, Deglan and Oria turned towards the gathered tribe - slightly awkwardly, with the ribbon still tied in place - and the people knelt in recognition of their new queen. Loki, standing behind them, bowed his head respectfully. The couple beamed at each other and at the tribe as Deglan motioned them to rise. Oria rose on tiptoe to whisper something in his ear.

"The feast!" he announced.

The large tables and benches had been set out the night before, and bowl after bowl of food quickly appeared on them, the women making a long line from the hill-fort down to the plain as they carried everything out. Loki sat by the new couple, as was his double-right as both druid and friend, and Thor sat with him.

"I'm so happy for you both," Thor said warmly.

"Thank you," Oria said, squeezing Deglan's hand and smiling.

The tables were arranged so that everyone could share in the entertainment of watching the new couple trying to eat with only one hand each; the wedding was over, and this meal was a good predictor of how the marriage itself would go. When the couple worked in unison, it boded well.

Oria and Deglan quickly worked out a system for eating, her using the fork to hold the thick piece of ham still while Deglan cut off a bite. She gave him the first piece in respect for his status, but after that he urged her to eat her fill, wanting to keep her well satisfied as their child grew within her. It was an excellent sign, everyone agreed afterwards, as Deglan carried her away, back to his-now-their roundhouse for more intimate celebrations.

The rest of the tribe spent the day on the plain. Three bards had come, and they sang long poems and played music, and the fili told stories, and the children played while the adults danced. Thor was learning their dances, but he still had far to go before he could join in the more solidly formed ones. For these, when he tried to sit to the side to watch and learn, Brisa quickly assumed her old role as teacher, dragging him firmly by the hand into the children's circle and talking him through each step.

Farbauti, Loki's partner in this dance, leaned close and whispered to him, "Look at the other ring." He glanced over and nearly collapsed in laughter at the sight of Thor being tugged through the complex motions by the small girl who barely passed his waist. She smiled fondly. "He has a good heart. I am glad for you, my son."

Loki's eyes were warm as he nodded his agreement.

*****

That night, after they somehow made their way back to the roundhouse holding each other up, Loki used his mouth on Thor. He couldn't open to receive, not yet, but he found that his tongue and fingers were more than enough to take Thor to dizzying heights. Near the end, he hesitantly let one wet finger ease downwards into Thor's cleft, not pressing to enter, but circling lightly, to see how this touch would be received. He found it rather hard to believe, after his own experiences, that it might bring pleasure. Maedoc, though, had spoken in enough length and detail about his own enthusiasm over the evening's feast, once he was well drunk, that Loki had decided it was perhaps worth a try.

It was. Thor bucked and came with a shout, his entire body trembling and spasming as he lay gasping for air afterwards.

That was good to know.

*****

The chill of winter was in the air the morning Engus spoke. "The cold begins to eat into my bones, Thor," he sighed. "I fear some days you will find yourself here alone."

Thor was unsure how to answer. "I hope you know that I wish only for what is best for you," he said carefully. "While I am still very much a student, I hope that I have learned enough that you feel it is all right to remain in your roundhouse on any day which you may need."

Engus smiled. "An excellent student," he said. "I think I will make it a point to teach you those particular skills that there has as yet been no call to use. You will be ready to take your own apprentice soon enough, and I will be a quarrelsome old man who sits about in luxury all day while others labor."

"Come sit here when that happens. You will enjoy watching me work."

"I will indeed," he said.

*****

The winter was long, with the cold uniformly bitter for what felt like ages upon ages. Even with their skins hung along the walls and the fire built high, the roundhouse was too cold for them to be without their blankets. Often it was too cold to rouse any desire beyond that for closeness and shared warmth. So they passed the months held tight in each others arms, Loki slowly losing any lingering apprehension he felt about being constricted in such a way. Every time he needed to move away, Thor let him go.

And every time Thor let him go, it made him want to come back.

*****

Spring crept in on a wave of snowdrops. The little white blossoms appeared, it seemed, overnight, bobbing their heads in the breeze and shooting their new green leaves up through the drifts of packing snow. With the arrival of these first flowers, the sap once again flowed in the trees and in their veins. First it was spent in the careful motion of hands beneath blankets, reaching into clothes, then in bared bodies moving against each other, savoring the feel of each others skins and the soft furs around them. And one gorgeous day it was finally warm enough to be bared to the air, and Thor spend hours pressing hungry kisses against every inch of Loki's body before taking his length into his mouth and glorying in the pleasure it bestowed.

When Loki had caught his breath, he urged Thor to rest back, eager to return joy for joy. His finger slid back to draw tight circles as he licked and kissed, and Thor arched his back, nodding his head frantically as he breathed a _please_. Loki watched Thor's face as he eased it in, ready for any sign of pain, but his moan was purely from gratification. It was strange, Loki thought, to be doing something in caring that Cassian had done in cruelty. He was not entirely sure, at first, how he felt about it. Even when Thor came explosively before collapsing, boneless, on the bedding, he was unsure.

Thor looked at Loki from beneath iron-heavy lids that were begging for sleep. Loki's face was cautious, as though he had not yet made up his mind how he felt about what had happened. "May I hold you?" he asked. He had long ago stopped asking this, but now it somehow seemed best. Loki nodded and laid down next to him. Thor brought his arms around him and felt the faint trembling that vibrated through his form. "Was that all right?" Thor asked carefully.

And Loki smiled. "Yes," he said. He really hadn't known until the moment Thor asked. But when he asked, the fact _that_ he asked, made it all right. Made it good.


	30. An Accident at the Smithy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Engus had been having strange muscle spasms in his arms. He should have stopped working when they began, he knew that, but there was so much work to be done, and so much still to teach.

This year, when Thor held his cups of milk out to Loki after taking no more than a taste, Loki made no argument before drinking it. And again, he began to fill out, his body's worrisome hollows filling into sleek valleys. It was even better this year, being able to feel the transformation beneath his fingers. Thor could happily spend hours running his hands over Loki, taking it all in.

"You're trying to make me fat, Thor," Loki said one evening as they sprawled comfortably together.

"I don't think you're capable of that. But I do worry with how thin you grow over the winter."

"Fat," Loki repeated contentedly, pointing at a slight fold of skin on his firm belly.

Thor laughed and pulled him close.

*****

Even with the beeswax stopping up his ears, the sound of the hammer against the hot metal was loud, and the ringing that echoed from each stroke hung heavy in the air. So it was that Thor didn't realize, at first, what the sound was that he was hearing. But when he stopped hammering to work from a different angle, the ringing subsided and it suddenly hit him what the noise was. It was an eerie, agonized howling, and it was coming from Engus, whose face was a mask of shock as the screams poured forth. Thor set down his hammer and rushed towards the older man, to see what was wrong. As he came around the anvil, he saw. Engus had been having muscle spasms in his arm, and one must have hit him as he worked. His hammer had fallen onto his foot.

Thor raised it off slowly, cringing at the shift in Engus' cries. His face remained a mask of blankness as the weight was removed. The foot was already swelling and purpling, but no bones had broken the skin. There would be no infection; he could at least be confident that Engus would survive, though he might be crippled by it. He tried to speak, but got no response, so he lifted him bodily and carried him to the bench where they took their rest and laid him carefully down, the injured foot raised on a pile of rags kept for wiping their sweat.

"I'll be back as soon as I can," he said, unsure whether Engus heard or understood him.

As he made for the door, Ruadri came bursting in. "What has happened?" he gasped.

Thor explained quickly. "Do you know where the queen is?"

"I do not. I will go through the village asking who has seen her while you go to the hill-fort and see if she is at home."

They both took off at a run, slowing only to tell others of the need to find Oria and send her at once to the smithy.

Thor burst in to the great hall, gasping for air after running straight up the hill, uncaring that he was interrupting the king with his councilors as he asked where to find the queen.

Deglan stood, answering quickly that she was in her workshop in the village. "Do I need to send for her?" he asked.

Thor shook his head no. "Ruadri went that way," he said.

He took another moment to breathe before explaining what had happened. Deglan's face was grim as he took it in. "She'll want him carried to the village, where she can watch over him," he said. "Go to her old roundhouse and fetch her patient litter, and take it to the smithy. I will meet you there to help carry him."

Thor nodded and obeyed. When he arrived with the litter, it seemed half the village was standing about, their faces covered in worry. No one knew how to help, and everyone wanted to; Engus was well-loved. The screaming had stopped, and Thor wasn't sure if that was good or bad. He went in to find that Oria was running light hands over the injured foot, now swollen like a water skin, while Judoc held a piece of leather between Engus' teeth for him to bite.

"Thor," Oria managed to smile at him. "I would like him carried to my workshop, please. Judoc, fetch me as much beer as you think him able to drink. I would prefer to spare him the worst of what I must do. And send someone for Loki, ask him to meet us."

The crowd murmured when they saw that the king himself was helping to carry the litter. It was a high mark of favor, a show of how valued Engus was to the tribe even now, when it appeared his days of useful work were ended. Oria walked alongside, her heavy red braid tied up in a rough knot to keep it out of her way.

*****

Loki was with his students as they recited the words for Imbolg, his ears carefully attuned to find any stumbles or mistakes, when he heard a cry from the mouth of the cave. "Go see what it is, Arduc," he said, annoyed at the interruption. But all annoyance fled when Arduc returned, his face blanched.

"There's been an accident at the smithy."

An icy hand grabbed at Loki's throat, blocking his air. "What?" he asked faintly.

"I don't know. Brisa must have run all the way here, that was as much as she said before she collapsed."

Loki ran faster than he knew he could, and had never felt so slow. His lungs were on fire and his heart slamming like it might burst from his chest before he was halfway back to the village, but he never slowed. When he finally burst into the clearing, Ruadri was waiting for him.

"They're at Oria's workshop," he told Loki, pointing.

"Thor?" Loki gasped.

Ruadri shook his head. "Engus."

He was in agony from the run, but the frozen terror released and let him take deep, shuddering breaths as he leaned against a tree, recovering briefly before taking to his heels towards Oria's.

He found Engus on the bed, his head supported by her graceful hand as she poured a large mug of beer carefully into his mouth. He drank steadily, sending a grateful glance towards the door as Loki came in.

"What happened?" he asked softly, sinking to his knees next to Thor, whose hand was turning purple as Engus squeezed it in pain.

"I'm not sure, he hasn't been able to talk. I think one of his muscle spasms took his arm. He had dropped his hammer on his foot."

"It's..." Loki didn't have words for how the foot looked.

"She's going to reshape it once he loses consciousness," Thor told him.

Loki nodded. "That is best." He turned from Thor, then, to take Engus' free hand and murmur prayers over him. His low, even voice seemed to bring some peace to the sufferer, giving him something to focus on, and his tense hands relaxed slightly as he continued to drink.

Once he passed out from the beer - it had taken so much, the sharp pain cutting through the haze - Oria motioned Thor towards the head of the bed. "Hold his arms down, in case he wakes. Deglan, please hold his good leg." Her face went slightly green as she palpated the foot, rearranging the bones as best she could through the swelling. Loki prayed constantly, and the gods were kind enough to let Engus sleep through everything.

*****

"Oria still dresses simply for her work," Thor commented to Loki that evening as they collapsed, exhausted, to their beds. "Deglan did not order her to ornament herself for her new station."

Loki smiled. It was a relief to have something to smile at. "If he were the sort of man to do that, she would never have married him."

"No, I suppose she wouldn't. I like them both."

"Me, too."

Loki moved towards him, curling as tightly into Thor's arms as possible. He could barely remember, now, why this had frightened him; it had come to mean the ultimate in peace and safety, having Thor's strength all around him, the ornate shields on his arms a ceaseless promise of protection.

"I was afraid it was you," he said, his voice muffled by Thor's shoulder. "Brisa could barely speak by the time she got to the cave, all she said was there was an accident at the smithy, and I was so afraid it was you. And I'm so glad it's not, and that means I'm glad it was Engus instead, and it makes me feel awful."

Thor smiled sadly and rubbed his arm. "If it were anyone else speaking these words I believe you would have wise advice for them. You can be glad it was not me without being glad it was Engus. You can simply be sorrowful that it happened."

Loki nodded. "You are right, of course."

"It is what you would say, is it not?"

"It is," he agreed. 

Thor gave him another tight squeeze before relaxing his hold, letting his arm come to rest across Loki's waist.

"I love you," Loki murmured, as they were halfway into merciful sleep.


	31. Home is Best

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Home is best," Loki said, wrapping his arms around Thor. "And this is home."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

Thor reluctantly took over the smithy. He had never felt less confident about his own abilities, even as members of the tribe sought him out to share their thanks. The king even gave him special acknowledgement at one evening meal, ordering him to name the reward-prize he wanted for his service. His first impulse was to refuse any gift; it felt wrong to accept anything after the way Deglan had allowed him to come join the tribe after he abandoned his legion. But on second thought, he did have a request.

"I would like the promise that Engus' family will be provided for, now that he cannot work to support them," he said.

The shocked faces that met his request made him think he had made some terrible error, and he began to stammer an apology.

"No - no, Thor, you misunderstand our reaction," Deglan told him. "Your wish speaks well of you. It is simply that we would never consider letting his family go without, after his many years of work for the tribe."

He relaxed. "Then I am content. I thank you."

Deglan grinned at him. "I will choose for you, then," he said.

Loki slipped his hand into Thor's. "That was a kind thought," he murmured under his breath as Deglan turned to other talk.

"It seemed only right," he answered.

"Yet many would not have thought it."

The next morning, a servant arrived at the smithy, bearing a handsome bronze cuff, inset with garnets. They were small but nearly flawless, and their color was a rich, dark red.

"We're going to have to get you your own set of shelves soon," Loki commented as Thor set it down next to Loki's own cuffs.

"I don't know. I like how they look together," Thor said.

*****

Oria kept Engus for two weeks, watching over him every night and sleeping through the day while the women of the tribe took turns. Thor visited each morning on his way to work, and Loki came each evening, on his way home. He had many other visitors as well, trying to keeping his spirits high. Everyone brought what beer they could to ease his pain, though Oria allowed it only at night, to help him sleep. "It slows healing," she explained in a tone that brooked no argument, "but so does lack of rest. This is best."

And then the night came when Loki got home to tell Thor that he would be wanted in the morning to help carry Engus home. "The swelling is down and he is out of danger. It is too soon to know if he will be able to walk on it, but he will rest better at home."

"As will I, knowing that he is to go. He has spoken of nothing else for days now."

"To me, as well. And he's right. Home is best," Loki said, moving close to Thor. He wrapped his arms around Thor's broad shoulders as Thor embraced his waist, and he melted against the strong body. "This is home," Loki whispered, squeezing tight.

"None better," Thor agreed, bringing his lips to Loki's.

*****

Elb'Aile came again, with its bounty of festively colored eggs and joyful celebrations filling the field by the hill-fort. There was a universal round of cheering when Thor and Ruadri arrived carrying Engus on a litter, setting him onto one of the long benches to drink and enjoy the celebrations and blessings of the day. By the evening, when people began to move to the hill-fort for the feast, he had so many eggs they had to talk Brisa into helping carry them all after him. Thor spend much of the day talking with him, and was glad to hear that it seemed to be healing better than anyone had expected, especially at his age. He was rapidly growing more cheerful, as well, and promised that soon he would start paying visits to the smithy to talk Thor through the other types of work he had not yet had the chance to learn.

"How different are the metals?" Brisa asked, perched on his knee.

"Well, they're all different hardnesses, and they take the heat differently, and the size of the piece has much to do with it as well. Thor has learned large and small work with iron and bronze, but gold is the only precious metal he knows how to work. There's also silver, and it's much harder than gold, and works completely differently," he told her.

"I like bronze best," she said.

"That's a useful metal, indeed," he said. "You have good taste."

The people slowly made their way out into the night, mostly paired off. Thor and Loki were part of a group helping Engus home before they walked alone to their roundhouse and continued their more personal celebrations of the festival late into the night, matching touch for touch and pleasure for pleasure.

*****

At Bealtain, Loki spent so long letting the torch scent Engus' roundhouse, in the hopes of drawing the gods close to grant him rapid healing, that the smith began coughing, and waved him away. "Healing my foot will do me no good if I choke to death," he grumbled cheerfully. He was sitting up, his bound foot elevated before him and a cluster of children scattered about, listening to his stories.

The sweet fragrance lingered about the village as it always did, offering its renewal of blessing and protection to all the Taexali. And, as it always did, it made Loki feel safe and bold as he at last drew Thor down to their bedding, groaning in relief as his tired shoulders eased into the softness.

"You have had a long day," Thor said, rubbing at his stiff neck. "Let me show you my appreciation." He coaxed Loki's clothes away with deft fingers, before efficiently shedding his own.

Loki stretched and gave a pleasured sigh as Thor began to kiss his way down his torso. He paused over a nipple, looking up. "May I?" he asked.

Loki thought a moment and nodded. "Gentle?"

Thor smiled. "Of course." He brought his lips down, butterfly-light kisses dancing across it. Loki's body came crashing suddenly upwards into him, and it was a heartbeat before he realized that what he had at first thought was sobbing was in fact giggling.

"Maybe not quite so gentle," Loki gasped as his giggles calmed down.

"As you like. I wasn't expecting you to make that particular noise."

"No, neither was I. I didn't know I could."

The kisses, when they came back, were firm but no less tender, and Loki relaxed into them. Thor flicked his tongue out, across, and he heard Loki gasp but felt no anxiety tensing his muscles. He lingered here, watching Loki's cock respond to his ministrations, until it lured him to continue his wandering path. Loki's soft, pleased sound was dizzying as he slid his lips down and began to work him with careful sucks.

When Loki grew close, Thor lifted his head. "May I try something else?" he asked, his fingertip drawing small circles just at the back of Loki's scrotum, suggesting what the _something else_  was.

Loki took a deep, shuddering breath, willing himself to stay calm. The fragrance of the sweet smoke swept into his lungs, and even the clench of stiffness in his neck helped remind him of the security of the day. "Just... a little?" he asked.

Thor pressed a kiss to his thigh. "Of course. Stop me any time you want," he said. "I will always stop when you tell me."

Loki knew that; Thor had proven it over and over, and he said it constantly. Loki always loved to hear it again, though, loved to be reminded that he was safe and respected here, in Thor's caring hands.

Thor wetted a finger in his mouth before bringing his tongue back down to the head of Loki's cock, drawing intricate swirls as his finger moved slowly back. When he got to the nervously fluttering muscle he stopped and circled it, offering touch without pressure. Loki gasped and Thor froze.

"No, don't stop," Loki said. "Nothing more, but that... that's good."

Thor gave a glad sound and continued, feeling Loki's muscles being to tremble with his spiraling arousal. Thor coaxed it higher and higher, until Loki felt himself flying among the stars as he climaxed, Thor accepting everything, swallowing quietly.

"You, too," Loki said, shifting to press Thor down into the thick bedding.

He rose, then, to Thor's confusion, before he retrieved a stoneware vial from a knotted pouch in his shawl. "Hazelnuts give a pleasant oil," Loki explained.

"Aren't hazelnuts sacred to Ainu?" Thor asked suspiciously.

"They are. As is the oil."

"Are you sure it is allowed to use a sacred oil for..." his voice trailed off.

Loki laughed. "Is what we are doing not sacred to her as well? This is sacred to her," he said, bringing his lips to Thor's. "As is this," he continued, stroking his hands down Thor's torso, "as is this," he finished, dragging his fingers as light as cobwebs across Thor's cock. Loki let go just long enough to spread a thin layer of oil across his fingers before returning to Thor's supine form, his eyes already fallen closed in anticipation.

Loki stroked him with warm, slippery fingers and light, teasing tongue. There was no urgency to this, not tonight, nothing but slow, relaxed pleasure that Thor already knew would coax him to greater and greater heights before his peak arrived. From the look his face, Loki knew as well. Loki seemed to enter him readily this time, his prior hesitance lost. Whether it was the protection of Bealtain or the blessing of Ainu's oil, Thor had no way of knowing, but the nimble fingers within him were heavenly enough to carry all the goodness of both.

*****

“Loki, what do you think happens when we die?”

"What brought this on?" Loki asked lazily, playing with the heavy coils and braids of Thor's gleaming hair. They were tangled together, sweaty and sated, and the question seemed entirely incongruous.

“I was just thinking about everything that we’ve been through in order to find each other,” he said. “Do you think we will be together?”  
  
 _Oh_. Loki stroked Thor’s hair as he spoke. “I believe that after we die, our souls follow a path to the afterlife, where we dwell with the gods until they choose to send us into new bodies. I have served them faithfully all my life, and you began to serve them as soon as you learned of them. I do not believe this will go unrewarded. We will have different names, different faces, but yes. I do think we will be together.”  



	32. Battle and Burning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Venicones attack again. This time, not all their survivors get away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains human sacrifice, and it's semi-graphic - the events aren't glossed over, but I don't go into details, either.

There was more warning before the Venicone attack this time. One of the scouts came running into the great hall as everyone was finishing their evening beers to say that he had just seen their warriors on the move towards Taexali lands.

"How far?" Deglan demanded.

"At a walk, two days. At a run, shortly behind me, though I think they were too laden to run more than a very little."

Deglan spat out orders, sending the warriors of the tribe home to collect their battle gear and return to the great hall as quickly as possible. Loki went with Thor to gather his own preferred garb for overseeing battles. He hadn't worn it in over two years. Two years and six days, to be precise. Thor's eyes lowered as Loki donned it, staring at the floor.

"Does it trouble you to see me so?" Loki asked him.

"Only with the memory of how I once dismissed your strength," he answered. "You know well what I was raised to believe about druids. My former ignorance shames me."

" _Thor_." Loki grabbed his arm. "What opportunities had you to learn anything else? You have always shown yourself eager to learn. Grant yourself the same kindness that you would show any other in your position."

Thor relaxed slightly. "I suppose you are right," he admitted.

"Good. Now let's get back and prepare."

They joined the stream of people moving towards the hill-fort, laden with weapons and possessions. Though there would be efforts made to protect the village, it would be foolhardy to leave everything unattended, and the fort offered greater safety.

The men slept rough, their bodies a ring around the top of the hill, ready to jump to arms at a word from the sentries. Loki stayed near Thor, but he did not sleep.He spent the night speaking silently to Rheganon, asking for her aid in the upcoming battle, and for her gift of death to be heavy in the weapons of the Taexali. _And I beg of you_ , he asked, _please, please see fit to leave Thor here with me_.

The Venicones arrived late in the afternoon. They massed on the far side of the plain. They did not show their tiredness, but they had arrived less than a full day after the scout who had brought the news at a run. Deglan quickly gave the order to attack before they had a chance to rest.

The warriors shed their clothes, displaying their tattoos and their fearlessness and prepared to charge down the hill. Loki gave Thor a swift kiss just before he was drawn away by Deglan's shout, neither one wanting to let go. The charioteers swept ahead of them as they ran down the hill and across the plain. Thor was at the forefront, golden hair streaming behind him and his massive hammer held high. After the last fight, he had made one specially for battle, modelled on his smith's hammer but making it balanced and weighted perfectly to swing and crush.

It was the first time Loki had felt the impulse to charge into battle himself; he wanted to stand beside Thor, fight beside him, throw his body in the way of any harm that approached. But he stood firm, rooted by the knowledge that he could aid Thor best by filling his own role, calling to Rheganon for the deaths of the Venicones and working his magic to aid the Taexali.

The charioteers did their work well, and the remaining warriors had to climb over the bodies of their kinsmen to continue fighting. They did it, but the awkward scramble left them vulnerable until they were safely over, and the charging Taexali reached them in time to take down much of this new front line before they were over. They shifted their approach, then, and began to take the field from either side of the barrier of fallen, and the Taexali had to split into two fronts to fight. Loki watched with pride as Thor fought at the front of one group. His body was pure grace as he whirled, swinging his hammer to take down two, three, four enemies in a single attack.

Once the Taexali who stood fighting near Thor realized the amount of sheer destruction he was wrecking among their enemies, two other warriors took up defensive places on either sides of him. They focused their attention on simply protecting his flanks as he spun, urging his hammer to greater speed, letting him abandon his shield in favor of maneuverability.

Loki watched in mingled gratitude and worry. It was difficult to tell, at this distance and through the commotion, whether Thor was safer now that he had the fighters defending him, or whether letting go of his shield was too much of a risk. He watched in fear as one particular Venicone got far too close with his blade before he was smashed down by the whirling hammer.

The attackers fought with increasing desperation as they saw their numbers dwindling, until, at a shout from their leader, they melted away back into the forest. Some of them did not move quickly enough, and the Taexali warriors, bloodied but triumphant, found themselves with three hale prisoners as well as the many who had fallen but not died of their wounds. No Taexali had died, though several had dragged themselves, wounded, away from the battle. Thor looked back to where Loki stood, still alert, keeping his eyes on them. He would not rest for a second until the prisoners were bound into helplessness, Thor knew. At Deglan's signal, Oria sent one of the serving boys to run out, bringing with him a pile of rough ropes. The slighter men drove before them those prisoners who could walk, while the burlier men carried the wounded.

It was more than a little surreal. Thor couldn't help thinking back to the day when he stood close with Marius as they watched Loki walk among the fallen Romans, a black-and-blood-colored bringer of death. He knew now, of course, that if that hadn't happened, the wounded would have gone into the wicker man; though they did not know it as they died, Loki had delivered them a mercy as well as giving himself succor.

And the fire was what waited for these men whom he was now carrying back. They would be burned alive, as he was to have been, had Loki not intervened. He looked up, watching Loki's figure grow slowly larger as he approached. Bringer of life and death alike, his lips at the gods' ears even as they sounded on earth. His ears, then, at the gods' lips. Thor did not like the wicker man, he never would, but he was learning that some of the Taexali ways that he disliked still had good purposes behind them. So he walked silently, carrying his moaning burden, and deposited him in an empty roundhouse. Not the one where he himself had been kept; this one had no bar over the door to hold it, as this prisoner would not be making any escape attempts. His only escape would be to go to the gods.

Thor was grateful for all the repair work needed by their weapons and shields after the battle; it kept him in the smithy, kept him from having to help build the man. Loki was kind. He could read the trouble knotted in Thor's forehead, and offered a peaceful, quiet presence, willing to hear Thor without pressing him to speak.

It took four days to build the structure of the man, leaving open enough spaces to fit the prisoners inside. Four days that Loki spent overseeing the work of the builders and then coming home, smelling of fresh-cut wood. Four days that Thor pulled away from him, sleeping with his back turned so that the scent did not interrupt his dreams. Loki watched it all with a heavy heart.

On the fifth day, he spoke of it. "I must go collect some green wood," he said. "The man is dry, and will burn quickly once it sparks. I am going to put green in the bonfire at his feet, for smoke. Your help would be welcome, but I understand if you prefer not to."

"Smoke? So that their lungs may burn as their skin does?" Thor asked bitterly. He should have fought harder, hit harder, made sure he left none alive. He did not mind killing enemies in battle - he delighted in that as much as ever, even if the enemies had changed - but this was something else entirely. And as much as the gods might demand it, he did not have to like it.

"So that they will have lost consciousness before the fire reaches them," Loki corrected gently. "Not all my duties are as pleasant as solemnizing marriages, nor are all sacrifices as easily made as offerings dropped in a well."

"No, they are not."

"You blame me for this." He said it calmly, without accusation. A simple statement of fact.

"I cannot help it. I am sorry."

"No, I understand. But think how slowly the wounded would die if I did not do this. And how many of them lie there suffering from hammer blows? I am giving them a quicker and easier release than the state in which you left them."

"And the unwounded?" Thor spat.

This was their request. They were offered the choice of the man or servitude. They could have chosen to do the work that will be left undone by our own wounded. They preferred death."

Thor was taken aback; he had not realized the men had been given such a choice. "I did not know this."

"Because you have not spoken to me, or anyone, in days."

Thor stood. "I will help you collect the wood."

"Thank you. You are not expected to attend, you know."

Another day passed before the sacrifice was made; a bank of clouds was rolling in slowly, and they waited until it covered the village. In the late afternoon, the Venicones were taken from their prisons, the wounded screaming and moaning in their pain as they were jostled, the uninjured stubbornly silent. By dusk, they were tied within and the last bits of wood and wicker built around them.

And at dark, Loki, surrounded by his students and assistants, lit the pyre. It did smoke, billowing around and up, lit from within by the slowly growing fire. Screams gave way to violent coughing, and then to the rasp of clogging lungs, and then silence. As the fire caught the legs of the man and began to lick its way upward, there were no sounds of pain. Nothing but the sounds of flickering flame as it climbed rapidly up the structure until it was all alight, towering above them, the thick logs at the core holding it together so they could watch in safety. The clouds caught the light and the sky was almost as bright as day.

The Venicones would see this from their own village, if they looked. And look they would, and perhaps doubt the wisdom of attacking the Taexali again. The gods were wise, and had many reasons for every thing they demanded.

Thor lay in the dark in the roundhouse. He did not sleep, waiting for Loki to return. Waiting for it to be over. The light of dawn crept in the smoke hole before he was back, smelling not of fire, as Thor had expected, but of the river. Despite being up all night, he had taken the time to bathe rather than bring home that scent. Thor looked at him more closely as he moved into the light. He looked completely drained, as though this sacrifice had kept him up for weeks rather than a single night. As though he did not like it, either. Perhaps it was not for Thor alone that he had washed away the smoke scent. Thor looked up at him silently.

"They did not suffer," Loki said.

Thor nodded. He did not speak, but when Loki settled onto the bed, Thor moved close.


	33. Retaliation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After two Venicone attacks, Deglan decides they must make an attack of their own. Being left behind to wonder and worry is hard.

The Venicones had attacked twice now, and Deglan decided it was time to retaliate. He did not have the lust for war that the best kings did, but his desire to protect his people was no less strong for it. He announced that they would wait until after the Midsummer feasting, and then the warriors would attack, leaving behind just enough for protection. Loki and his older students, along with many of the women, would support them if needed; even those not dedicated as warriors were trained to fight ably enough to defend themselves. It was with a glance of apology - at Loki, not Thor - that Deglan did not name Thor as one of those who would remain.

Attacking was far more dangerous than defending, as Thor had seen; the forest was too dense to take along the chariots, while the Venicones would certainly put theirs to their maximum utility. Not all the Taexali warriors would not return home. They had three more nights together, and that might be the end. And he wasn't ready. There were so many things he wanted to do, to try together, and he wanted to spend years upon years telling Loki that he loved him.

He spent two nights trying to decide how best to ask for what he wanted, knowing how difficult it would be for Loki. But then the third night came and there was no more time for thinking. Loki was settled between Thor's thighs, three fingers moving headily inside him and tongue making stripe after delicate stripe up his cock. Thor's head was thrown back, his mouth open as he fought for breath. "Please, Loki," he murmured. "More."

Loki moved back slightly, looking to where his hand still worked, trying to figure how best to add in a fourth finger, when Thor shook his head. "More," he said again. "You."

Loki froze, staring at his face.

"Not if it will distress you. But... I love you, Loki, and I want this." _Please_ , he thought. _I may march to my death tomorrow. I want this at least once with someone I love, before it is too late_.

Loki nodded uncertainly as he eased his fingers free, reaching for the vial of oil to slick himself. He felt a little queasy as he moved into place, and hoped desperately that he wouldn't get sick in the midst of this.

"Only if you want, too," Thor said. Loki was more than a little tempted to stop, but he took in the anticipatory flush on Thor's face, the excited heave of his chest, and resolved himself. The pressure was so, so tight as he slid in, and it had to hurt, it had to be agony to receive this, even though when he looked up, Thor was gazing at him in awe. "Oh, it's..." Thor breathed.

It burned slightly, but not painfully, and they had never been so close as this, their bodies intermingling as though they could melt into one another. As though they were becoming one and all this sudden pleasure was his body rejoicing in it. Loki's smile was shaky. "You like it?" he asked, uncertain how it could be possible.

"More than _like_. It's wondrous."

So he moved again, going a little faster, and Thor began to moan, but the slick noise of his cock was louder, and it was still tight, it _had_  to hurt, and he was doing this anyway, and as he kept moving he found he couldn't breathe and his heart was going to explode from his chest and he had to hurry, had to get this over with, had to _go away_ -

and Thor stopped moving beneath him, and stilled Loki's hips with his hands. "Shh, Loki," he soothed. "Stay with me, stay here. Stop if you need to, but stay with me."

Loki's breath caught as he struggled to hold on, not even letting himself blink as he focused on Thor's face. "I don't want to turn into him," he whispered.

"Oh... _no_ , Loki. Never. That will never happen. Do you feel how close I am?"

Thor moved Loki's hand to the hard length pressed against his stomach. It was burning hot, throbbing with need. His eyes returned to Thor's, questioning. Thor smiled encouragingly. "Trust me when tell you what I like."

Loki felt the fear, that awful fear that he was becoming Cassian, begin to ease its grip. Thor _did_  like this, he was not doing anything Thor didn't want. Wanted very much, Loki amended, as the cock in his hand gave a jump. He began to move, watching the pleasure grow on Thor's face with each glide of his hips.

With the added touch of Loki's hand, Thor came quickly, bucking and gasping his pleasure as he spilled across his stomach. Loki made to withdraw, but Thor stopped him. "In me. Please?" he asked. So Loki moved faster, urged on by Thor's murmured words of love and praise, and when he came with a shower of silver stars in his vision, there was no room in his mind for anything but Thor and love and this exquisite pleasure. 

It was the only way they managed to sleep that night, Thor was sure. He wanted to fight away the heavy blanket of slumber that slowly spread over him, wanted to spend these last few hours with Loki awake, talking, touching. But if he was to survive, he needed to be at his best, and he reluctantly let himself go.

Loki stayed awake, listening to the even sound of Thor's breaths, soaking up his warmth like he was trying to gather enough for a lifetime, knowing it might have to be. When the dawn began to peek into their house, he wished that light had a body, that he might tear it to pieces with his knife. But the sun moved inexorably upward. Loki felt fragile as glass, as though at any moment the next new ray of light would shatter him to pieces.

Thor woke at the shouting outside, intended to summon the warriors to gather in the great hall for a meal with their families before their departure. For a fraction of a heartbeat, he couldn't remember why they were being woken so early. Then his eyes flared and he pulled Loki to his chest, unspeakably grateful that this was no longer something that set him to fear. There was already enough fear in his eyes as he looked back at Thor, his hands shaking as they held on tight.

All too soon, Loki let go. "We must go," he said, so that Thor would not have to.

Thor nodded. They dressed in silence, gazes heavy on each other.

And then it was time to leave. They clung together, kissing desperately. "I love you, Loki, I love you so much," Thor murmured into his open mouth.

"I love you, too," Loki told him. Choking back his tears, he told Thor the way to the afterlife. "Promise me you will remember," he demanded.

"I promise."

"Repeat it, tell it to me."

Thor recited it back, word for word.

Loki nodded. "Good. Remember that, and whatever happens today... I will see you again."

"I promise," Thor said again.

Loki made him recite it, over and over, the whole way to the great hall.

*****

Oria's jaw was firm as she bid Deglan goodbye. "Come home quickly," she told him, running her hand over her hugely swollen belly. "Your child and I will be waiting for you."

He kissed her and smiled. "I will be pleased," he said.

Thor held Loki tight until the last possible moment. After the previous night, it was even harder to say goodbye, but he didn't regret it for a second. If he died in this raid, if Loki never saw him alive again, he would at least have that final memory of Thor welcoming him, wanting them to be wholly together.

Those who remained stood on the hill, watching as their warriors marched across the plain and melted into the forest. Some of them turned back to give a last wave. Thor did not. Loki neither expected nor wanted it; he had had enough of goodbyes. He turned, about to walk back to his roundhouse to curl up in Thor's bedding, when Oria staggered forwards with a pained gasp.

Alaca caught her. "You hid it well," she said. "Just stay quiet a little longer. How close are they?"

"Ten minutes," Oria gasped. She had labored all night in silence, hiding it from Deglan lest the face of her pain distract him in the battle.

Farbauti took her other arm and the three of them together walked into the fort, taking Oria home. "Loki, will you remain close by today? In case we have need," she asked him.

He nodded. His mother was skilled at aiding in the birth of calves, and Alaca had borne several children herself. They were the best the village had to offer when the midwife was the one giving birth. It would be dangerous, more dangerous than marching against the Venicones. His prayers, and the gods' ears bent to his words, could be vital in seeing Oria and her child through this alive.

Loki sat on the hillside, moving with the sun to stay in the shadows. When Thor was back, they would bathe in its warmth together. Alone, he wanted no part of it. He spoke to Brigh, asking for her aid, his prayers becoming more intense as Oria's screams began to ring out. The day passed somehow. He stood when a serving girl came out to fetch more water.

"How is she?" he asked.

Dera paused. "My lady does not have good hips," she said reluctantly. "They are too narrow. Please, keep praying."

He nodded. "I will."

Near dark, the screams grew suddenly worse, sharper and more intense. He paced aimlessly, begging Brigh with all his heart to help his friend. Just when they grew too much, when he thought there was no way she would survive this, her cries ended, and there was a new one. A child, shocked at the suddenness of the world. His face broke into a smile. New life, in the midst of such death, was something he needed desperately. But then she began screaming again, and an icy hand clutched his heart. He had not heard this before, not after the child was born. It mingled with the sounds of the baby, and when it ceased a second time, he collapsed to his knees. "No, please," he whispered to Brigh.

The people began to make their way up the hill, asking for news, taking fright at his face. But then Dera came outside to meet them. "She is well," she said. "They are well, the queen and her sons."

Loki nearly laughed in joy. Twins. It was welcome news. Though the king was elected, it most often went to a son of his, who was raised and trained for it. For Deglan to have an heir at last... they needed it. And two was better. Now they just needed him to come home and live till his sons reached manhood.

The new boys were a distraction for the tribe as they awaited the return of the warriors. Loki spent the days sitting on the hillside, watching for them to come melting back out of the trees, the way they had left. Others sat with him, anxious wives, worried children. Farbauti kept him company much of the time.

"How did you bear it?" he asked, thinking of the far-off day he was a happy child, riding off with Laufey to join the Britani. She had gone years with no word of their fates. This had only been four days and Loki felt like he might tear his own skin off.

"I don't know," she said simply. "I suppose it helped that it was at the time for breeding the cattle, and I was needed. I had not yet taught it to anyone else, and I knew the tribe was depending on me. The way they depend upon you. But it is too soon to worry," she told him, taking him into her arms as though he was still that child.

"It has been two years and forty-three days since the first time I saw him," Loki said. "One year and six days since I first told him I loved him."

"And you will again," she reminded him, "either here or after."

He nodded. "I know."

"Now, my son, you must be strong. The others look to you for their own faith. Come to me tonight, when no one will see you. You can let it out then."

He did as she said, and they sat in her roundhouse together with his tears wetting her dress as she rocked him. "He has my prayers as well," she told him. "He's bringing back my happy little boy."

"I'm thirty," he said, snuffling.

She laughed. "You're always my little boy. It's the happiness he's bringing back."

He fell asleep with her, her cool fingers smoothing his hair.


	34. Attack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The warriors attack the Venicones. Most of them return home.

It took two days to reach the Venicone village by foot; Deglan had elected against horses, afraid of a siege in the dense woods. They camped roughly, but the cheerful fire and determined high spirits of the other warriors kept Thor from sinking into too deep a mood. He realized, now that he was facing real danger, that he actually cared about dying in battle. Before, he had simply accepted it as a likelihood and given it no further thought. But now, he did not want to be parted from Loki, even with the promise of meeting again in the afterlife or new bodies. And he worried about Loki, still so fragile but working determinedly to rebuild himself. He had come so far. Thor's heart swelled with pride as he thought of the strides Loki had made. Thor knew Loki credited him with it, just as Thor knew Loki had done it all himself; all Thor had done was give the care and respect he needed to do it.

It was late afternoon when they arrived at the clearing by the Venicone hill-fort. The Venicones were waiting for them, as they knew would happen. Even as they took up defensive positions with their backs to the woods, the chariots were already sweeping down, arrows arcing high, the stone heads glinting in the sun before plummeting downwards. Thor heard a cry behind him; someone had been injured, but not, it seemed, gravely. He lashed forwards suddenly, smashing the wheel of one the second chariot to pass by them. It collapsed to its side, and with quick blows the charioteer and the archer had their throats slit. The pile of broken wood and the frantic horses wove disarray through the Venicone attack, as the horses wheeled wildly to dodge the sudden obstacle.

With the withdrawal of the confused chariots, the Venicones lost their largest advantage. True, the Taexali had walked for two solid days, but they were used to hard work, and were not so tired as the Venicones had been when they made their attack. And there were already two dead near Thor's feet. The warriors ran forwards the moment the ground was cleared, and there was a crash that shook the heavens as shields and swords smashed together in a single massive wave.

It quickly became clear that the Venicones had held back some of their best warriors when they attacked before Midsummer; Thor continued to take down his opponents, but he was dimly aware of the figures of the men at his side falling to the ground. He pressed on, grimly reminding himself that whoever survived here would come, bringing death to his own village.

Deglan fought his way closer to Thor's side, shouting orders as he went. When they stood together, he gestured with his shield at a tall man with twinkling brown eyes and a snub nose. "That's their king," he said. "His nature is as foul as his face is charming, and I want him dead."

Thor nodded and changed the direction of his attacks, bringing down each warrior who moved into his path. The battle-lust was surging through his veins, and he saw little beyond his goal. The dull crush of bone against metal rippled up his hammer and gave him new energy, and then there was no one else in his way, and he brought his hammer down right onto the sneering face.

A Venicone warrior gave an abrupt shout, and they put up their shields and lowered their swords as one, indicating their willingness to end the battle. Deglan gave the order for the Taexali to do the same. Thor stood, sides heaving for air, as he watched the retreat. His blood slowly calmed, and by the time he turned to face the rest of their force, his vision was no longer tinted red.

It was with a melancholy shock that he realized Faelan and Maedoc had fallen together, side by side in death as they always were in life. He knelt next to them, placing their hands together. Looking up at Deglan, he asked, "Can we not take them back for proper burial?"

Deglan's face was sad as he shook his head _no_. "It is too far in the narrow woods, and the weather is too hot."

Thor nodded his understanding. He leaned down to where their heads lay pillowed together on the grass, and whispered in their ears. The funeral rituals were good, but this knowledge that Loki had demanded he learn was all they truly needed. Their souls would walk the path of the afterlife hand in hand, and dwell with the gods together. He knew well that his mourning was for himself; they had died gloriously, and what waited for them now was pure companionship and love. It was what he hoped for himself and Loki, one day.

They dressed quickly and walked as far into the woods as they could before it became too dark to see, and they slept rough, curled up in their clothes. The moment dawn broke they were on the march again, eating and drinking as they walked. The blood and offal that crusted their skins felt tight and itchy, and it was beginning to smell, but they were too eager to return home with news and reassurance to stop to bathe.

On the second day, after their midday meal, they broke into a run, ready to speed away the last few hours. Thor was grateful that he did not know these woods; it meant that he was one moment among the trees, and then, without expecting it, he was on the plain, staring forwards at the hill-fort, where Loki was even now rising to his feet to come down towards them.

Loki could not move too quickly down the slope, but once he was on flat ground his feet pounded against the dirt as he ran towards Thor, laughing his relief. The moment he was in Thor's arms, wrapping his own tightly around the strong back, was the most blissful he had ever known. Thor's breath was heavy and his heart pumped hard from the hours of running, and Loki took it all in, every sign of life more precious than gold. He wanted to gather it all up and hold it forever. He clung to Thor as his eyes scanned over the returning warriors. They were filthy, crusted blood all over their skin that was starting to flake off, and they had never looked so good.

Thor felt it the moment Loki realized who was missing. He pulled back to look in Thor's face questioningly.

"They fell together," Thor said.

Loki nodded. "It's how they wanted it."

"And... we couldn't bring them back for proper burial, but I remembered what you told me, and I told them before we had to leave their bodies."

At that Loki smiled. "Then they are together. It was good of you."

"I owed them my happiness. I never told them," Thor said, bringing a hand up to brush a stray hair from Loki's forehead.

"You were a good friend to them. I think your conscience can rest easy."

Thor smiled, a little sadly. "Thank you," he said. "Would you care to go to the river together? I don't think I can stand this blood on me another hour."

They spoke little on the walk there, simply holding one another close, staring as if unable to believe they were back together.

It seemed everyone had the same idea, and soon the river was full of people, all splashing and laughing in the warm sun and cool water. Soon Thor's skin was gleaming clean, and he and Loki joined the stream of couples walking back to the village, eager for more privacy than the busy river could offer them.

"How fared things here while we were away?" Thor asked as they walked, arms around each other's waists. Thor carried his clothes, which he had rinsed but still needed a good washing to remove all the dried blood inside them.

"Oria bore twins, sons," Loki said, glad to have good news to share. "They are all well."

"That's wonderful!" Thor exclaimed. "What has she named them?"

"The elder is Drust, and the younger is Aodhan. Apparently Drust sleeps more, and Aodhan keeps waking him."

Thor winced in sympathy. He had never had any particular interest in babies before coming here, but he soon learned that it was different among the Taexali. For the first time in his life, he was friends with women as well as men, and care for their children came to him naturally.

They felt back into silence. Loki kept glancing down, pretending to be secretive, and his smile growing each time Thor caught him and gave him a squeeze. By the time they were halfway back, it was becoming visibly clear that Thor's interest matched Loki's, and they began to walk faster.

The door was barely closed behind them before they were all over each other, Loki's anxious hands running over every inch of Thor's skin, reassuring himself that Thor was indeed uninjured. Thor busied himself with Loki's clothes. They kissed frantically, driven by all the fears and worries of the past week, as though this was the only way to reassure themselves that they were alive and together.

When Loki was undressed, he pulled Thor down to the bedding and set about kissing everywhere he had stroked, cherishing each moment as a precious gift. He slicked his fingers and eased them down and back, stretching Thor gently open to receive him. He continued long after Thor was shaking and moaning with need. Finally he laid back and nodded.

Thor looked at him uncertainly. "You won't feel trapped if I'm above you?" he asked.

Loki shook his head. "I don't think so."

So Thor moved over him, taking a careful hold on Loki's cock and guiding it smoothly in, sinking downward until they were pressed together, his own weight driving Loki in deep, as far as he could go. Thor held it, savoring the closeness, before he lifted up and eased back down. "I missed you so much, Loki. I love you," he said.

Loki smiled. "Say that again," he said.

"I love you."

"Again," Loki said, his voice filling with rapture.

"I love you."

The words set the pace for their lovemaking, Thor repeating them each time he slid down until he was too far gone to form them, and then he said them with his eyes, so warm as they looked into Loki's own. Even when they came, they managed to keep their eyes open, watching the shared pleasure wash over their faces, taking in every second and locking them safe within their hearts.


	35. A New King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Thor killed Allcallored, the Venicones had to elect a new king. This one is very different from his predecessor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

Engus continued to improve, and by Mabone he was on crutches, making his way about the village. Just as he had promised, he was often in the forge, giving Thor the benefit of his experience while thoroughly enjoying the experience of watching someone else do all the work. "I'm not sure how much I'll get out in the winter, while I'm using these things," he said, gesturing to the crutches, "so I've got to get in my society while I can."

"As if you won't have more visitors than you can handle," Thor laughed. "The great hall will sit empty while we all crowd about you."

"Tell me how the children are," Engus said. After so long waiting for an heir for Deglan, the two babies had quickly become _the_  children. It was difficult for Engus to climb the hill, so he did not see them often, and their well-being was of the highest concern to the tribe.

"They grow so quickly," Thor said. "They have begun to kick, and they both love music."

"Babies do," Engus agreed.

"Do you miss yours being so young?" Thor asked curiously.

"Gods, no," Engus laughed. "Months at a time without enough sleep were hard enough when I was a young man. But I do love having grandchildren."

*****

Winter came gently, this year, and there were fewer nights that they were unable to do more than hold tight for warmth. Loki grew more relaxed with Thor's gentle explorations of his body, until one night he gathered his courage as Thor drew tiny teasing circles, and he whispered, "Yes."

"You're sure?" Thor asked, kissing Loki's forehead as he hovered above him.

Loki nodded. "I want... more. Everything. And I want to work towards that. I'm tired of fear making my decisions."

Thor nearly forgot how to breathe as he reached for the small vial of oil and coated his pinky. It meant less dexterity, but his fingers were large and rough, and he wanted to make this as easy as possible.

Loki fought to keep control as Thor's hands returned to him, drawing those teasing circles again before trying anything more. "Kiss me?" he asked. Thor smiled and leaned down, bringing their lips together lightly at first, slowly growing more demanding. He parted his lips in invitation, and as Loki slid his tongue between them, Thor pressed inwards. Loki gasped in shock and braced himself for the expected pain, but it never came. There was only Thor's gentle touch and hungry kiss. As he relaxed, Thor began to ease backwards with dizzying slowness. His erection, which had flagged, began to stiffen again.

"May I?" Thor murmured against Loki's lips, and Loki nodded. Thor worked his way downwards, teasing with soft kisses and tempting licks until he reached Loki's cock. He kissed and licked all over it with equal care before easing his lips down over it. He slid up and down in time with his finger, his eyes crinkling in the reassuring smile that his mouth was too full to make as Loki looked down at him. Loki smiled back, a little uncertain but sincere, and rested his head on the thick bedding. He could still see Thor's golden hair, a radiant reminder that he was here, now, safe. When Thor began to suck with each stroke, the room filled with quiet pleading sounds. It took Loki a moment to realize they were coming from him as Thor drew him close.

When Loki began to whimper, Thor looked up quickly, but the eyes that met his own were hazy with lust, and he moved faster. Loki began to move with him, just the faintest shifting of his hips, but it meant everything. And when Loki clutched hard at the bedding, his cock throbbed between Thor's lips in time with the heady tightening of his passage.  
Loki came with a soft cry, spilling into Thor's mouth and feeling the warmth of it gush around his cock before Thor began to swallow it down. And each swallow pulled on his cock again, urging his climax to continue, to give just one more pulse, and another, and another. When he collapsed back, sated, Thor gently withdrew as he took his lips away, pressing gentle kisses into Loki's thigh. "That was good?" he asked. "All of it?"

He looked down at Thor, too spent to smile. "It was. I wasn't sure at first, but it was."

Thor smiled and dropped another kiss on his leg. "I'm glad."

"But you... you still need-"

"There's no hurry," Thor said. "There's no hurry with anything."

*****

At Midwinter, Thor gave Loki a large bag of dried apple slices. He had collected the apples himself, and dried them in the heat of the forge, in anticipation of this day. There were still a few shriveled apples left in Deglan's storehouse, but they would not last long, and Thor had seen the wistful look on Loki's face last year when it had been announced they were eating the last of that year's apples. These dried ones would offer him something sweet while they waited for spring.

It was not so grand a gift as the one he had given the year before, but he knew Loki better now, and he hoped the care and thought put into it would make up for that. It did; the joy with which Loki received it was wholehearted. He pulled one out and ate it, his face blissful, before hanging it from the roof to keep it safe from pests. It left his kisses sweet and rich.

Loki gave Thor another bead for his hair, carved from a stone as black and glossy as Loki's curls. Thor looked at it carefully, running his thumbs over the smooth surface with pleasure. "It's made of jet," Loki said. "The Votadini find it on their beaches. My great-grandmother was one, and she brought this with her when she came here."

"It's beautiful. It looks like you," Thor said, looking up. Loki flushed with pleasure. "But surely it should remain with your family."

Loki put his hands on Thor's. "It's mine, to do with as I wish."

"Then I thank you." Thor braided it in quickly as Loki put on his ceremonial robes.

After last year's harsh winter, these celebrations were particularly joyful. The bonfires burned extra bright, the singing extra loud. Even the mead seemed extra sweet this year, as the tribe gathered in the great hall that evening. Thor noticed Farbauti looking at the new bead in his hair and he blushed, but when she caught his eye, she smiled and nodded her approval. He smiled back gratefully.

With the warm winter (and, Thor hoped, the apple slices that Loki crunched so happily before bed every night), Loki's body kept more of its sleekness. He lost weight, as they all did each winter, but not so much as to worry Thor. He loved to run his work-roughened hands down the long smooth muscles, so different from his own, so endlessly fascinating. It pleased him nearly as much as Loki's growing confidence, his sense of safety as they continued to explore. He began taking Thor into his mouth, encouraged by the gentle murmurs of pleasure it brought forth. As the months passed and Imbolg came, with the prancing lambs that never failed to make everyone laugh, he slowly welcomed another finger, then another, Thor's mouth always coaxing him to his climax as his free hand held onto Loki's.

*****

Not long after Imbolg, a Venicone emissary arrived at the hill-fort, his weapon held backwards to show that he meant no aggression. He was surrounded quickly and taken to Deglan. Their arrival interrupted a meeting with his advisors, and Deglan's face showed his annoyance as the man began to speak, but he grew intrigued as he listened.

"I bring the greetings of Seisyll, king of the Venicones, to Deglan, king of the Taexali. I am bid to tell you that he believes the actions of Allcallorred in making enemies of our people to have been unwise. He bids me to say that he wishes for nothing but peace between our peoples."

"And his warriors support him in this?" Deglan asked.

"They do. Many of us expect that Rome will continue to attack our coast, and we believe an alliance between the Taexali and the Venicones is in the best interest of both our tribes."

Deglan mused a moment. "Send for Thor," he told one of his guards. "I would have his thoughts on this."

Two of his advisors looked shocked until his swift glare made them school their faces. The remainder had sense enough to recognize the wisdom in his decision.

Thor came quickly, sweaty from the heat of the forge. The guard had told him nothing beyond that he was wanted, and his face showed his curiosity. Deglan explained quickly. "So tell me. Do you believe Rome will continue to attack our lands?"

Thor nodded slowly. "As long as Octavian is ruler, I think it likely. At his best, Julius was a great leader, and Octavian has ever tried to outdo him. He will fail, but he will not stop trying."

Deglan turned back to the emissary. "Take this message back to Seisyll: 'Deglan, king of the Taexali, sends his greetings. I invite him to meet in nine days from now at the shrine of Inchunagan to discuss this matter."

The advisors looked at one another, their gazes heavy with meaning. Thor watched them, perplexed. It had been too long since that particular history had been sung; he did not know that the shrine was where the Pritani kings had met and formed a pact. Deglan inviting Seisyll to meet there, of all places, was tantamount to acknowledging that he wished to renew the peace made by Laufey and Pidarnoin.

Loki explained it to him that night as he moved deeper into Thor's embrace. He was growing stronger, better able to deal with his memories, but they were still painful, and he was grateful for Thor's hand gently stroking his hair as he spoke. He was also grateful for Deglan's kindness in not asking for Loki's company, nor demanding Thor's, for this meeting. For all that, though, his face was less anxious than Thor's as the tribe gathered to watch the king ride off with his advisors and guards.

"Has he enough guards? They could be waiting to ambush him, anywhere along the way," Thor asked uneasily.

But Loki shook his head. "It will be well," he said simply.

"You're so sure of this?"

"I heard it in the rain."

It was not often that Loki said such things, but when he did, they never failed to prove true. "You should tell Oria, then. She looks worried."

"And tired," Loki said. She did, yet she stood proudly as she watched them go, one child at each bared breast. He walked over to her and spoke quietly so as not to disturb their nursing, and Thor watched her face soften in relief.

*****

A day and a half of riding saw Deglan's party to the shrine. Seisyll was there already, and his people hurried to offer them beer. They subtly but clearly poured from the same skin for both kings, and used Deglan's own cup, to show there was no intent to poison. Deglan grinned openly as he watched them.

:"After Allcallored's long kingship, you are accustomed to treachery from my people. I merely wish to show that I do not intend to follow him," Seisyll said.

Deglan nodded graciously. "It is already clear that you are a very different sort of king," he replied, taking a deep drink. It was cold, from the skin being kept in the chilly lake, and after the long ride it was hard to imagine anything more refreshing. "You know about me, of course. Tell me of yourself."

"I am not of royal blood," Seisyll admitted at once. "I was raised a warrior, with no expectations of greater position. But Allcallored lacked the wisdom a king should have, so when he died, our people were loathe to elect one of his sons to follow him. I have some skill for strategy on the battlefield, and when it came to the vote, I was chosen."

It boded well for the relationship between their tribes, Deglan thought. Seisyll was free of the undue pride of his predecessor, while being honest about his strengths. And if he was good at strategy, he had the ability to make wise decisions quickly. Just what the Taexali wanted in an ally against Rome. It would not do to bring up the reason for their meeting too quickly, though, so they passed the day and evening drinking and talking. Seisyll congratulated Deglan on his sons, and promised that they would soon sleep through the night. Seisyll himself had a daughter a few months older than the twins, and his words were very welcome.

They finally retired for the night, two guards from each tribe standing guard, though it was already clear that this was no more than a formality. In the morning, a peace would be made. They both slept better for the knowledge.

Deglan's people provided the morning meal for both parties, after which the two kings walked to the shore of the lake and made their offerings. They smiled at this reminder of the closeness of their two tribes as they watched the gleaming metal spark in the sun before sinking into the depths.

"I desire a peace between us," Seisyll said simply as they sat down before the shrine.

"As do I," Deglan agreed, more cautiously. "There is the matter of repayment, however. Your people stole our cattle and killed more of our men than we killed of yours."

Seisyll nodded. "I am willing to agree on a reasonable amount. Would you accept two gold beads for each cow, and four gold beads for each fallen warrior lost beyond our own losses?"

Deglan considered. "Five per warrior. We lost some of our best men."

"Five, then." Seisyll nodded and motioned forward one of his guards. "What were your losses?" he asked as the man opened the trunk he was carrying, displaying the gold inside.

"Twenty cattle and eight men," Deglan answered. The guard carefully strung eighty beads, tying the yarn off into a rough and gleaming necklace. He lowered it respectly over Deglan's head. "We are now at peace," he said. "Your emissary also spoke of an alliance against Rome, if they invade our lands again. I desire this as well."

"I am glad to hear it," Seisyll said. "And perhaps... when they are of age, our families might meet and see if there might be affection between my daughter and one of our sons."  
"If there is affection, it would be a smart match," Deglan agreed.

Kingly business completed, they left the shrine to return to their relaxed seats where they had talked the night before to share their midday meal. When they parted to ride home, it was with mutual cordiality and the beginnings of friendship.

*****

Deglan and his escort returned to the village three days after they left, their jovial faces telling the outcome well before they were near enough to speak of it. The tribe gathered in the great hall that night to hear him. "Seisyll is an honorable man, very different from Allcallored. We are now at peace with the Venicones, and we have an alliance to join together if we are faced with Roman attacks." It was exactly what everyone had expected from the moment they saw the party's glad smiles, but it was good to hear it spoken. Mead was shared and a day of rest and general celebration was ordered for the following day. The Venicones were their nearest neighbors in both land and custom, and it was beyond good to be friends again.


	36. Free

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

The foxgloves bloomed early this year, several weeks before Midsummer. It had been several years since Loki had taken it, and it was time again. Thor didn't like it; Loki had explained the dangers, saying that some druids died because their hearts couldn't bear such fullness. But this was who Loki was, so Thor put on a brave face as they kissed goodbye. He knew, now, how it must have felt to stand on the hill-fort and watch him march away into the trees.

Farbauti approached him silently, and he started at her voice. Her words were soothing, though. "His heart is strong. You know this," she told him.

He nodded. "I do. I just wish I could do this for him."

"I believe he feels the same about you."

"I know. That doesn't help."

"No. It never does."

*****

The violent sickness that the fur and the drink always caused had grown no easier over the years, but with experience, Loki managed to find it less objectionable. Sometimes, painful things had to be borne to reach the good at the end. This thought filled his mind as the dizziness took him and he lay back to watch the clouds.

The clouds danced across the sky, taking on fantastical shapes for his pleasure and distracting him from his more somber thoughts. A unicorn raced a winged bull, a wildcat tumbled playfully. A kitten, then. Loki cherished the few glimpses he had had of wildcats in his life, but none of them played so. As always, he rested in a patch of clover, enjoying the sound of the bees in his ears. They hummed gentle secrets that set him halfway asleep. He felt himself sink into the earth, limbs stretching and reaching until he could touch the ocean. The water of his eyes became lakes, his nose the highest mountain. His hair streamed out in rocky cliffs, and his mouth was a cave full of sparkling crystals. He wiggled his toes and caused the tides, and when he inhaled he sent new life into the roots of everything growing in Britain.

The sun shone warm on his soil, and eventually he grew dry. He pulled back into himself and rose to drink the water that had been left him. It was cool and faintly sweet. The trees were coated in their yellow haloes, and he covered himself in it as he walked through the forest.

To his surprise, he found the dark-haired little boy again. He had not seen him since the first time he used the foxglove. He was laying on his back in a patch of yellow flowers, watching the clouds. He sat up when Loki walked into the clearing. "Hello. I've been waiting for you," he said.

"Have you now?" asked Loki, bending down next to him. "Shall we see if you like butter?" He plucked one of the flowers and rubbed it on the boy's nose. "Ah. You do. I do, as well."

The boy laughed. "Everyone likes butter."

"Very true," Loki agreed. "Now tell me, why were you waiting for me?"

"I want to play," said the boy.

"All right. What do you like to play?"

The boy's smile faltered. "I've forgotten."

"Don't worry. I've remembered."

Loki took the small hand in his own and they walked to the river. He knelt and explained how to pick the best stones before skipping one across the surface of the water. The boy's eyes lit up and he began to send stone after stone across the river. At first they sank with harsh splashes, but Loki was a skilled teacher, and soon the stones were gleefully hopping their way to the other shore.

Finally, the boy spoke again. "You should go home, it's getting dark. Don't worry about me. I'm all right now."

Loki smiled at him. "I know," he said. He rested his hand affectionately on the small head for a moment before turning towards the village. As he walked, the sounds of laughter and water followed him, until they at last faded beneath the sound of crunching leaves. And then he was home, and Thor was there. He had a yellow halo, too.

Thor looked up at the sound of the door to see Loki, dazzling in the firelight. "Tonight," Loki breathed. But Thor's anxious eyes took in the twitching limbs, the hectic sheen of sweat, the pupils blown black, and he shook his head _no_. "Tomorrow," he answered gently.

*****

Thor had expected that the first time Loki took him inside himself, he would be on his back with Loki astride; it would give Loki the control, and let him keep his eyes fixed on Thor’s face, keep him grounded in the moment. So he was surprised when, after he had carefully prepared him with warm oil and gentle stretching, Loki rolled away, onto his side. He pressed his back against Thor’s chest as he breathed his readiness.

“You don’t want to face each other?” Thor asked.

“No, I want you to hold me,” Loki said.

“I can’t, not right at first.”

Loki nodded. “I understand.”

Thor ran his hand lightly along the back of Loki's upper leg. "Bring this up for me a little?" he asked. Loki nodded again and pulled the knee to his chest.

Thor positioned himself carefully and began to push. Loki forced his breathing to stay even, telling himself over and over, _it’s Thor, it’s Thor_ , and then the pressure eased into something fuller. Thor put his arm around Loki’s chest then, holding them close together and murmuring constantly into his neck, words of love and praise and reassurance. Loki twined his fingers with Thor’s and squeezed each time Thor slid in a little more, giving Loki time to adjust in between. He was so slow and gentle, and his low voice so tender, that by the time he was completely in, Loki felt himself beginning to relax.

This was completely unlike anything Thor had ever felt before. It was so tight, so hot, he could barely process the thought of it. It had taken all his self-control to restrain his pace. It was only the tension he felt in Loki’s neck where it was pressed against his lips that held him back. He didn’t like not being able to see Loki’s face; when the tension eased, he wasn’t able to tell if it meant that Loki was losing his fear, or if it meant he had gone away.

“Are you still with me, Loki?” he asked, breath hot against Loki’s skin.

“I am. It’s… not what I expected.” _Not what I remember_ , he thought, but did not say. Giving the memory voice would give it more power than it deserved. Better to let it be washed away under these waves of pleasure that Thor would bring to him.

“I’m going to move now,” Thor told him, a question in his voice.

“Yes,” Loki breathed, and _oh_ , Loki sounded even hotter than he felt, like his voice had set Thor on fire, and he groaned helplessly as he slid back and then eased forward again. It was a bit too fast, more than Loki was ready for, and he couldn’t quite suppress a whimper. Thor froze.

“A little slower?” Loki asked.

“Of course,” Thor promised. “If you can let go of my hand, it may also help if I touch you.”

Loki shook his head no. “I’d rather stay like this,” he said, squeezing Thor’s fingers.

So Thor began to move as slowly as he could. The slow drag through the velvet sheath was delicious, intoxicating, and he gritted his teeth to maintain his control, barely able to hold the languid pace.

Once Thor slowed down it was glorious, and the remains of his tension eased into nothingness as Loki felt himself get caught up in it. The pleasure that Thor had sparked with his fingers returned in a rush, and he began to move with Thor, his sleek body undulating within the safe embrace. Thor’s breathing hitched as he felt Loki’s body respond to his own. “I’m all right, Thor. You can go faster now.” He tried to say it, but it came out as little more than air.

It was the way he spoke, just as much as what he said, that set Thor off, and he let himself free, strong smooth drives in and urgent pulls back making the tension that coiled deep in his belly rise up and threaten to overwhelm him. “I’m getting close, Loki,” he warned. “Do you want me to-”

“In me,” Loki answered. His own need was so demanding now, so urgent, it would take only the tiniest bit more to set him off, and he took the hand he was holding and moved it lower, wrapping Thor’s fingers around his cock and his own over them. Thor growled into his neck, working his hand and his hips at the same maddening pace. Loki felt so hot around him, so hot within his hand, and he barely managed to choke out Loki’s name before his vision became a wash of stars and he gave one last thrust before he froze and felt the tension in his belly snap and spill.

It was that last desperate thrust that did it for Loki, the feel of Thor so deep within him and the heat of his spill going even deeper, and the way Thor said his name in the midst of his pleasure, and then Loki was coming as well, gasping Thor’s name and feeling the pulses of his release through Thor’s hand.

Thor moved his arm back up, wrapping it around Loki’s chest again as he carefully withdrew. He pressed kiss after kiss against Loki’s neck, his head, the tops of his shoulders, lost in drowsy contentment. Which turned suddenly to fear as Loki’s shoulders began to shake. “Loki? Loki!” he said urgently, squeezing his arm.

He was cut off as Loki rolled over to face him. Loki was shaking with delight so pure it could only be expressed as laughter, and his eyes were bright with joy as he moved forward for a kiss. “I want to do that again,” he said.


	37. Epilogue

Seven years after Thor came to live with the Taexali, Roman ships were again sighted off the coast, sailing north. Deglan sent an emissary to Seisyll and summoned his warriors.

"Thor. Do you remember enough Latin to translate their commands for me?" Deglan asked.

"I do." For nearly twenty years he had lived and breathed for Rome; their words were not so easily forgotten.

"Then you will be at my right. I want to know everything they're saying. But if any commands are given that require an immediate response from us, I want you to give the order directly, and translate after."

Thor's stomach knotted. It was a huge responsibility; Deglan was putting the lives of every Taexali warrior into his hands. When the battle was over, he would have to face the women and children whose men had lived or died at his word. He felt at once the burden that sat upon the king at every conflict. When he nodded his assent, it was with renewed respect. The one criticism he had heard of Deglan's rule was that he lacked the proper desire for war, but Thor understood it now.

The Venicone warriors arrived the day before the Romans did. The great hall was packed with men for the evening meal before they camped all along the ridge of the hill, ready to attack at a single word.

*****

Augustus still wanted the island for his own, and he wanted revenge on the Caledonians who had sent his army home in such disgrace at the last attempt.

They landed not far from the place where the Gemina first set foot on Caledonia, but they did not make the same mistake of thinking this would be an easy victory. The entire legion made the difficult way through the woods, setting up camp at the far side of a clearing near a hill-fort. Two tall, eerie figures stood watched them all night, one dark and slender, the other huge and golden.

The Caledonians rose at dawn, stripping off their garments to display their barbaric tattoos and gathering into tight formation at the top of the hill. The Romans mustered quickly in response. The giant stood at the front, near the center. They could not see the dark man, not until with a shout the Caledonians poured down the hill, and a stream of chariots poured out from either side of it, the horses leaping forward eagerly. Then they saw him standing still atop the hill, his face in shadows and his eyes glimmering from their depths, his hands moving in strange ways. There was only a moment to stare, though, before the charioteers were on either side of them, sending a stream of arrows cascading down. They raised their shields, but the arrows came from both sides, and many soldiers fell before they even met the Caledonian force.

They marched forwards, keeping ranks as best they could while clambering over the bodies of the fallen, the centurions shouting orders as they rapidly covered the plain, and then the battle began. Each time they regrouped or changed tactics, the Caledonians somehow matched them, move for move. The Gaulic slaves looked at each other significantly, nodding their heads towards the dark figure on the hill. The centurions had no explanation for such magic, though, so they merely continued to shout orders, hoping to find some means of attack that would regain them the upper hand. It proved to be their undoing. By the time the Romans retreated, there were no centurions left to give the order; the surviving legionaries simply decided to save their own skins. The Caledonians watched them straggle back into the forest.

That night, their camp was sieged. Two soldiers were left alive, and they returned to the ships in humiliation, sending word to Rome of the Caledonians' might and magic.

 

Two years later, Octavian made his final attempt to conquer the island. This invasion was made in the far south.

 

And Thor and Loki lived out their days in love and happiness, as they well deserved.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and for all the feedback, everyone! I'm so glad you enjoyed my story.


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